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THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

MARK A K E N S 1 D E . 



WITH A LIFE, 



Bt rev. ALfeXA^DER DYCE 



BOSTON: 

LITTLE, B K W N . AND C il P A N Y , 
1864. 



jm ^ ♦Of 



ADVEETISEMENT TO THIS EDITION. 



This edition of Akenside's Poems is a reprint 
of that prepared by the .Rev. Alexander Dyce 
for Pickering's " Aldine Poets," in 1834, with 
some improvements, consisting principally in the 
correction of errors discovered by a re-collation 
of the texts. 

The Poems as far as the JEpistle to Curio, p. 
409, are given as they appear in the authorita- 
tive edition of Mr. Dyson, London, 1772. 

The remaining pieces have been compared with 
the printed originals, except An Epistle to Curio 
and Love, mi Elegy, which have necessarily been 
taken at second-hand from the new Aldine edition 
of Akenside, pubhshed by Bell and Daldy. From 
this also are derived the additional notes to the 
Miscellaneous Poems, p. 453. 

June, 1864. 



CONTENTS 



Pajre 

Life of Akenside, by the Rev. A. Dyce 9 

Appendix to the Life of Akenside 109 

Advertisement to Mr. Dyson's Edition of Akenside's 

Poems (1772) 113 

The Pleasures of Imagination. In three Books. 

The Design 115 

Book 1 119 

II 140 

m 166 

Notes on Book I 188 

n 191 

m 194 

The Pleasures of the Imagination. On an enlarged 
plan. 

General Argument 200 

Book 1 202 

II 227 

m 251 

IV. 270 

Odes on Seat:ral Subjects. In two Books. 

Book I. Ode I. Preface 275 

n. On the Winter Solstice 277 

Ditto. As originally written . . . 281 

m. To a Friend unsuccessful in Love . 283 

IV. Affected Indifference 286 

V. Against Suspicion 287 

VI. Hymn to Cheerfulness 289 

VII. On the Use of Poetry 295 

VIII. On Lea%ang HoUand .297 

IX. To Curio 800 

X. To the Muse 307 



6 CONTENTS. 

Odes on Several Subjects, continued. 

Page 

Book I. Ode XI. On Love, to a Friend 308 

XII. To Sir Francis Henry Drake, Bar3. . 311 

XIII. On Lyric Poetry 314 

XIV. To the Hon. Cliaries Townshend . . 319 
XV. To the Evening Star 321 

XVI. To Caleb Hardinge, M.D 324 

XVII. On a Sermon against Glory .... 326 

XVIII. To the Eari of Huntingdon .... 327 

Book U. Ode I. The Remonstrance of Shakespeare . 337 

IL To Sleep 341 

III. To the Cuckoo 343 

IV. To the Hon. Charles Townshend . . 345 
V. On Love of Praise 352 

VI. To WiUiam Hall, Esq 353 

VII. To the Bishop of Wmchester ... 355 

Vm 359 

IX. At Study 360 

X. To Thomas Edwards, Esq 361 

XL To the Country Gentlemen of England 364 

XII. On recovering from a Fit of Sickness 371 
Xin. To the Author of Memoirs of the 

House of Brandeuburgh . . . 374 

XIV. The Complaint 376 

XV. On Domestic Manners 377 

Notes on the Two Books of Odes 379 

Hymn to the Naiads 382 

Notes on the Hymn to the Naiads 394 

Inscriptions 401 

An Epistle to Curio 409 

The Virtuoso 421 

Ambition and Content. A Fable 425 

The Poet. A Rhapsody 429 

A British Philippic 435 

Hymn to Science 441 

Love, an Elegy 445 

To Cordelia 450 

Song 451 

Additional Notes to the Miscellaneous Poems .... 453 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE.i 



BY THE KEV. ALEXANDER DYCE. 

Mark Akenside ^ was born at Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne, November 9tb, 1721, and was baptized on 
tbe 30tb of the same month by the minister of a 
meeting-house, which his parents used to frequent.^ 
His father, Mark, was a respectable butcher. His 
mother's maiden name was Mary Lumsden. He 
was their second son. It is said that in after-life 
he was ashamed of the lowness of his birth, which 

1 During the earlier years of his hfe, the poet spelt his 
name, both on the title-pages of his publications and in his 
letters, Akmside; but at a later period he adopted the form 
Akenside. 

2 "Mark Akenside, bom the 9th November, 1721; bap- 
tized y® 30th of the same month by the Kev. Mr. Benjamin 
Bennet." — History of Newcastle, ii. 513, by Brand, who adds : 
"The above was communicated by Mr. Addison, glazier at 
Newcastle-upon-Tyne, who married Dr. Akenside's sister, and 
is in possession of some drawings, which were the works of 
that ingenious poet in an early period of his life. Jlr. Bennet 
was a dissenting minister at the new meeting-house in Hanover 
Square, Newcastle-upon-Tyne." 

8 According to the Biogr. Brit,, Akenside's "parents and 
relations were in general of the Presbyterian persuasion." 
B 



10 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

was constantly brought to his recollection by a 
lameness, originating in a cut on his foot from the 
fall of his father's cleaver, when he was about seven 
years old.^ 

After receiving some instruction at the free- 
school of Newcastle, he was sent to a private aca- 
demy in the same town, kept by a Mr. Wilson, a 
dissenting minister. 

His genius and his love of poetry were mani- 
fested, while he was yet a school-boy. The 
Gentleman's Magazine for April, 1737, contains 
one of his earliest attempts at versification, enti- 
tled " The Virtuoso, in imitation of Spenser's style 
and stanza : " ^ it is far superior to the sing-song 
inanities which in those days generally adorned 
the pages of that miscellany, and is prefaced thus 
by a letter to the editor : — 

" Newcastle-upon-Tjiie, April 23. 
" I hope, Sir, you'll excuse the following Poem 
(being the performance of one in his sixteenth 
year), and insert it in your next Magazine, which 
will oblige. Yours, &:c. 

" Marcus." 

To the same popular work he contributed, in the 
next month, an ingenious fable called " Ambition 

1 Brand's Obs. on Pop. Antiq. 114, ed. 1777. 

2 Gent. Mag. vii. 244. — IMr. Bucke thinks it Avas suggested 
by a passage in Shaftesbury's Characteristics, iii. 156, ed. 1737. 
-— Life of Akenside^ 6. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 11 

and Content ; ^ and, in July following, " The Poet, 
a Rhapsody." "^ 

When about the age of seventeen, Akenside 
used to visit some relations at Morpeth, where it 
has been rather hastily supposed that he wrote his 
" Pleasures of Imagination." ^ Passages of it 
were probably composed there: at various times 
and places, during several years before its publi- 
cation, that great work had, no doubt, occupied his 
mind. In a fragment of the fourth book of the 
remodelled copy, he pleasingly describes his early 
sensibility to the beauties of nature, and his lonely 
wanderings in the vicinity both of Newcastle and 

of Morpeth: — 

" ye dales 
Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands, where 
Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides, 
And his banks open, and his lawns extend, 
Stops short the pleased traveller to view, 
Presiding o'er the scene some rustic tower 
Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands ; 

ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook 
The rocky pavement and the mossy falls 
Of soUtary Wensbeck's hmpid stream; 
How gladly I recall your well known seats 
Belov'dof old, and that dehghtful time 
When all alone, for many a stmimer's day, 

1 wander' d through your calm recesses, led 
In silence by some powerful hand unseen." 

To the Gentleman's Magazine for August, 1738,* 
he communicated " A British Philippic, occasioned 

1 Gent. Mag. vii. 309. 2 ibid. vii. 441. » Biog. Brit. 

4 viii. 427, where it is signed " Britannicus." 



12 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

by the insults of the Spaniards, and the present 
preparations for war." That its flaming patriotism 
was quite to the taste of Mr. Urban, appears from 
the following advertisement : — 

" N. B. It often turning to our Inconvenience 
to sell a greater Number of one Magazine than of 
another, and believing the above noble-spirited 
Poem will be acceptable to many, not our constant 
Readers, we have printed it in Folio, Price Six 
Pence, together with the Motto at large, for which, 
receiving the Manuscript late, we could not make 
room. And if the ingenious Author will inform 
us how we may direct a Packet to his Hands, we 
will send him our Acknowledgments for so great 
a Favour, with a Parcel of the Folio Edition." 

His " Hymn to Science " was printed in the 
Gentleman's Magazine for October, 1739.^ It is 

1 ix. 544, where it is dated "Newcastle-upon-Tyne." Mr. 
Bucke, not aware of this, supposes that it Avas written at Ed- 
inburgh. He pronounces it to be " woi'thy the lyre of Collins," 
to whose imaginative odes it bears no resemblance, and, after 
quotmg the two following stanzas, exclaims, " Has Horace or 
Gray any thing superior to this?" I confidently answer, — 
many things infinitely superior : 

" That last best effort of thy skill, 
To form the life and rule the will, 

Propitious Power I impart: 
Teach me to cool my passion's fires, 
Make me the judge of my desires, 

The master of my heart. 

"Kaise me aboTe the vulgar's breath, 
Pursuit of fortune, fear of death. 
And all in life thafs mean; 
Still true to reason be my plan, 
Still let my actions speak the man. 
Through every various scene." 

Life of Jikcii^idc, 19. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 



13 



doubtless a production of considerable merit ; but 
Mr. Bucke is probably tlie only reader whom it 
ever moved to rapturous admiration. 

Our poet was about eighteen years of age when 
he was sent to Edinburgh, with some pecuniary 
assistance from the Dissenters' Society, that he 
might qualify himself for the office of one of their 
ministers; but, after pursuing the requisite studies 
for one Avinter, he changed his mind with respect 
to a profession, entered himself a medical student,^ 
and repaid the contribution which he had received 
from the Dissenters. " AVhether," says Johnson, 
" when he resolved not to be a dissenting minister, 
he ceased to be a dissenter, I know not. He cer- 
tainly retained an unnecessary and outrageous zeal 
for what he called and thought liberty ; a zeal 
which sometimes disguises from the world, and not 
rarely from the mind which it possesses, an envious 
desire of plundering wealth or degrading greatness ; 
and of which the immediate tendency is innovation 

In the same volume of the Gentleman's Magazine, p. 153, is 
an imitation of Horace, Ode 1. B. iii., signed " M. A." Qy. Is 
it by Akenside ? 

When the " Pleasures of Imagination" appeared, the editor 
of the Gent. Mag. gave an extract from that poem, headed by 
an announcement that it was witten by the author of the 
"British Philippic" and the " H^'mn to Science," xiv. 219. 
Both pieces were reprinted in the third vol. of Pearch's CoU. 

of Poems. , . , ... - 

1 In a letter written from Newcastle in 1742 (which will be 
afterwards given), he calls himself " Surgeon." 



H LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

and anarcliy, an impetuous eagerness to subvert 
and confound, with very little care what shall be 
established." ^ • 

At Edinburgh he was elected a member of the 
Medical Society, December 30th, 1740,* and be- 
came acquainted with several persons of his own 
age, who afterwards rose to eminence ; but though, 
during his residence there, he prosecuted the study 
of medicine,' we learn from the following authentic 
statement that he was by no means satisfied with 
his new profession, and thirsted for a celebrity very 
different from that which its most successful prac- 
tice could confer. " Akenside," says the late 
Dugald Stewart, " when a student at Edinburgh, 
was a member of the Medical Society, then recently 
formed, and was eminently distinguished by the 
eloquence which he displayed in the course of the 
debates. Dr. Robertson (who was at that time a 
student of divinity in the same university) told me 
that he was frequently led to attend their meetings, 
chiefly to hear the speeches of Akenside, the great 
object of whose ambition then was a seat in Parlia- 
ment ; a situation which, he was sanguine enough 
to flatter himself, he had some prospect of obtain- 
ing, and for which he conceived his talents to be 

1 Life of Akenside. 

2 Anderson's Life of Akenside. — Brit. Poett, ix. 725. 

* Mr. Bucke says that Akenside "seems to have made great 
proffress" in his medical studies at Eilinburgh (Life of Aken- 
side, 16); and, in quoting from Stewart the passage which I 
have given above, he omits the concluding sentence. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 15 

miK'h better adapted than for the profession he had 
chosen. In this opinion he was probably in the 
right, as he was generally considered by his fellow- 
students as far inferior in medical science to several 
of his companions." ^ To the ardour of youth, and 
the consciousness of high endowments, we ought 
l)robably to attribute such ambitious dreams; and 
we may suppose, that, as judgment ripened with 
maturer years, they faded gradually away. 

At Edmburgh he composed his ode " On the 
Winter Solstice," dated 1740, which he soon after 
re-wrote and amplitied. He is said - to have ori- 
ginally printed it with another juvenile production, 
** Love, an Elegy," for distribution among his 

1 Elem. of the Phil, of the Human Mind (Notes), iii. 501, 
4to. The author is led to give the above anecdote by having 
quoted in hi» text (p. 342) the following lines in Akenside's 
Ode to Sleep, where, he observes, the poet " has very beauti- 
fully touched upon the history of his own mind: " — 

" Tho figur'J brass, the choral song, 
The n-stueJ people's glml applause, 
The listening Senate, and tlic laws 
Fix'd by the tounsels of Timoleon's tonpue, 
Are scene-* too grand for fortune's private ways; 
And though they shine in youth's ingenuous view, 
The sober gainful arts of uioderu days 
To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu." 

2 Biog. Brit. — In the Ad. and Cor. to the first vol. we are 
told that " Love " " aftarwards appeared in the first edition of 
Dodsley's Collection^ but was omitted in succeeding editions 
by Akenside's desire." It certainly is not in tho first edition 
of that work, 3 vols. 1748, but may have been inserted in some 
early edition of those, or the subscqueiitly-publibhcd volumes, 
which I have not seen: it was printed in tho third volume of 
Tearch's Coll. of Poems. 



16 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

friends. His lines " To Cordelia" ^ bear the same 
date. 

We are told by Akenside's biographers, that, 
after staying three years at Edinburgh, he removed 
to Leyden for the advancement of his medical 
studies ; — that he remained there two (according 
to others, three) years, till he had taken his degree 
of Doctor of JPhysic in 1744; — that he there 
formed an intimacy with his future patron, Mr. 
Jeremiah Dyson,^ then a student of law at the same 
university, and returned with him to England — 
(they " embarked," according to Mr. Bucke's ^ par- 
ticular account, " in the same vessel at Rotterdam, 
and arrived safely in London, after an agreeable 
but protracted voyage ! ") ; — and that the " Plea- 
sures of Imagination " was published soon after the 
poet's arrival in England. I shall presently show 
that Akenside's first and only visit to Leyden was 
in 1744, and subsequent to the appearance of his 
great work; and that he and Mr. Dyson were 
never in Holland at the same time. 

Having completed his studies in the Scottish 
capital, Akenside appears to have returned to his 
native town in 1741. Next year, he addressed 
the following remarkable letter * to Mr. Dyson, a 
young gentleman of fortune, with whom perhaps 

1 I find them in an excellent American edition of his Works, 
2 vols. New Brunswick, New Jerse\', 1808. 

2 On the authority, I suppose, of Sir John Hawkins. — Life 
of Johnson, 233, 243, ed. 1787. 

8 Life of Akenside, 24. * Now first published. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 17 

he had become acquainted during his residence in 
Edinburgh: — 

"Newcastle-upon-Tyne, y« 18th of Aug", 1742. 

" Dear Sir, — I have been long expecting to 
hear from you since I had the pleasure of seeing 
you on the road ; but your letter has either mis- 
carry'd, or has been prevented perhaps by some 
unexpected affairs ingaging you after your arrival 
at London longer than you suppos'd. Upon either 
of these cases, I should not have delay'd to begin 
a correspondence sooner, but that I knew not how 
to direct for you. Our acquaintance, Mr. Ander- 
son, has just now inform'd me ; and I take the 
opportunity of his journey to London to send you 
this. For, where there is a real esteem and affec- 
tion, it is certainly extremely absurd to act accord- 
ing to those precisenesses of form and punctuality, 
which in some matters may prevent inconvenience, 
but can never regulate the mind, and have no 
connection with the free inclinations of one who 
would be a friend. The very opportunity of 
knowing a person of a desirable character is the 
means of no slight enjoyment ; but the prospect of 
contracting a friendship in such a case brings the 
pleasure much nearer home, and promises a kind 
of property in those things which all men Ipok 
upon with honor and good wishes. If you will 
excuse me for being thus selfish, I sincerely and 
heartily offer you my friendship ; and tho' in such 



18 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

a compact, where there are no articles of obliga- 
tion, nothing stipulated, nothing impos'd, it be not 
very becoming to promise too much, yet I think 
one may venture to ingage for himself, that he is 
capable of being a friend : for tho' in our voluntary 
affairs this be indeed the main article, yet it 
luckily happens that this pretension, like all those 
that regard the heart and will, is neither difficult 
to be made good, nor liable to the censure of vani- 
ty ; quite differently from all pretensions to what 
is valuable in the understanding, or in any other 
respect of nature or fortune. 

" Mr. Anderson says he was told you had been 
somewhat indispos'd since you got home. I hope 
you are by this time perfectly strong and healthy^ 
so as to continue without fear in your resolution of 
spending next winter at Leyden. I heartily wish 
I could spend it with you, but am as yet unde- 
termin'd. Mr. Archer, besides next winter at 
Edinburgh, intends, I hear, to pass another with 
Mr. Hucheson : in my opinion he putts off his 
settling in business too late, if he spend as many 
years as he talks of in an academical way. It was 
always my desire to be fix'd in life, as they say, as 
soon as I could, consistently with the attainments 
necessary to what I should profess. 

" A letter from you, whenever you are at leisure, 
will be extremely welcome : you will direct it to 
be left at Mr. Akenside's, Surgeon, in Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 19 

" I desire you to excuse this blotted scrawl ; it 
is past midnight, and Mr. Anderson goes away 
early to-morrow. I am, Sir, with the greatest 
esteem and sincerity, your very affectionate and 
obedient servant, " Mark Akinside." 

This letter was the prelude to a friendship 
memorable for the fervour and the constancy with 
which it was maintained on both sides, as well as 
for its beneficial results to the poet. At the time 
it was written, I apprehend that Akenside was 
busily occupied in the composition of the great 
didactic poem, over which his genius seems to have 
brooded even from his boyish days ; and that, 
though he styles himself " Surgeon," he had not 
commenced any regular practice in that capacity. 

Mr. Dyson's " resolution of spending next winter 
at Leyden," in order to prosecute the study of civil 
law, was carried into effect. On his return to 
England, in 1743,^ he entered himself at one of 
the Inns of Court (I believe, Lincoln's Inn), and, 
in due time, was called to the bar. 

The " Pleasures of Imagination " being now 
ready for the press, we may suppose that Aken- 
side brought the precious manuscript to London 
about the middle, or towards the close, of 1743. 
" I have heard," says Johnson, " Dodsley relate, 

1 As appears from a letter of Professor Alberti to him, 
dated December 1st, 1743, in the possession of his son, J. 
Dyson, Esq. 



20 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

that, when the copy was offered him, the price 
demanded for it, which was a hundred and twenty- 
pounds, being such as he was not inclined to give 
precipitately, he carried the work to Pope, who, 
having looked into it, advised him not to make 
a niggardly offer ; for ' this was no every-day 
writer.'"^ In consequence of this imprimatur 
from Twickenham, the work was published by 
Dodsley in January, 1744.^ Notwithstanding its 

1 Johnson's Life of Akenside. 

2 Quarto, price 4s.: see the Daily Post for January 16, 
1744, Mr. Bucke says it was printed by Richardson, the cele- 
brated novelist : a letter addressed to him by Akenside will be 
afterwards given, and is, I suspect, Mr. Bucke's sole authority 
for such an assertion ! The motto on the title-page is 'AaefSovg 
(i€P karw uvdpuTTOV Tug napa rov Qeov ;^;apiraf urcfid^ecv. 
Ejnct. apud Ai'vian, ii. 23. A second edition, 8vo, price 2s. is 
announced in the Gent. Mag. for Jlay next. In a copy of the 
first edition (now in the British Museum), presented by Aken- 
side to Dyson, is the following MS. dedication, which probably 
the modesty of the latter would not allow to appear in print : — 

"Viro conjunctissimo 

Jeremiae Dyson, 

Vitae morumque suorum duci, 

Rerum bonarum socio, 

Studiorum judici, 

Cujus aniicitia 

Neque sanctius habet quicquam, 

Neque optat carius, 

Ilocce opusculum 

(Vos, tyrannorum iinpurae laudes 

Et servilium blandimenta poetarum, 

Abeste procul ! ) 

Dat, dicat, consecratque 

Marcus Akinside, 

xrii. Calendas Jan. a. ^. c. MDCCXLrr." 

This dedication Avas not first printed by Mr. Bucke, as that 
gentleman supposes: it had previously appeared in Beloe's 
Anecdotes, vol. i. 

" The Pleasures of Imagination " was published anony- 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 21 

metaphysical subject, so little adapted to the taste 
of common readers, this splendid production was 
received with an applause ^ which at once raised 

mously. Johnson told Boswell, that, when it orighially came 
out, Rolt (a now forgotten author) went over to DubHn, and 
published an edition of it in his own name ; upon the fame 
of which he lived for several months, bemg entertained at 
the best tables as " the ingenious Mr. Rolt; " and that Akenside, 
having been informed of this imposition, vindicated his right 
by publishing the poem with its real author's name. Boswell 
adds in a note, " I have had enquiry made in Ireland as to this 
story, but do not find it recollected there. I give it on the 
authority of Dr. Johnson, to which may be added that of 
the Biographical Dictionary and Biographia Draraatica. in 
both of which it has stood many yeai'S. Mr. Malonc observes, 
that the truth probably is, not that an edition was published 
with Rolfs name in the title-page, but that, the poem being 
then anonymous, Rolt acquiesced in its being attributed to 
him in conversation." — Life of JoJinson, i. 342, ed. 1816. 

1 Gray, however, who was not yet known to the world as a 
poet, passed a depreciating criticism on it in a letter to Dr. 
Wharton, from Cambridge, April 26, 1744: "You desire to 
know, it seems, what character the poem of your young friend 
bears here. I wonder that you ask the opinion of a nation 
where those who pretend to judge do not judge at all: and the 
rest (the wiser part) wait to catch the judgment of the world 
immediately above them, that is, Dick's and the Rainbow 
Coffee Houses. Yoiu- readier way would be to ask the ladies 
that keep the bars in those two theatres of criticism. However, 
to show you that I am a judge, as well as my countrymen, I will 
tell you, though I have rather turned it over than read it (but 
no matter; no more have they), that it seems to me above the 
middling; and now and then, for a little while, rises even to 
the best, particularly in description. It is often obscure, and 
even unintelligible, and too much infected with the Hutchinson 
jargon. In short, its great fault is, that it was published at 
least nine years too early. And so raethinks in a few words, 
' k la mode du Temple,' I have pertly dispatched what perhaps 



22 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

the author, who had only completed his twenty- 
third year, to a distinguished station among the 
poets of the day. When it first appeared. Pope 
was sinking under the malady, which, a few months 
after, removed him from the poetic throne ; Swift 
was still alive, but in the stupor of idiotcy ; Thom- 
son had won by " The Seasons " an unfading 
laurel, to which he was destined to add another 
wreath by "The Castle of Indolence;" Young 
was in the fulness of fame, though the four con- 
cluding portions of the " Night Thoughts " were 
yet unpublished; Glover enjoyed a very high 
reputation from " Leonidas ; " Johnson was known 
only as the author of an admired satire, " Lon- 
don ; " Dyer had put forth " Grongar Hill," and 
" The Ruins of Rome," with little success, — his 
" Fleece " was yet to come ; Collins had vainly 
endeavoured to attract notice by his " Eclogues " 
and " Epistle to Hanmer," — his " Odes " being 
of a later date ; Shenstone had produced little, but 
among that little was " The Schoolmistress ; " 
Blair had published •' The Grave ; " and Arm- 
strong, who had only a disgraceful notoriety from 
a licentious poem,^ was soon to rival Akenside 
as a didactic writer. 

may for several years have employed a very ingenious man 
worth fifty of myself." — Mason's Memoirs of Gray, 178, ed. 
1775. His still moi'e unfavourable opinion of some of Aken- 
side's minor poems will be afterwards cited. 

1 The " Economy of Love." His " Art of Preserving 
Health" was pubhshed in April, 1744: see the Daily Post for 
the 12th of that month. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 23 

The applause which hailed the first appearance 
of " The Pleasures of Imagination " had scarcely 
subsided, when Akenside found that he had roused 
an adversary of formidable powers. Having 
adopted the opinion of Lord Shaftesbury, that 
ridicule is the test of truth, he had annexed to a 
passage in the third book of his poem a long note 
on the subject, in which Warburton chose to dis- 
cover an offensive allusion to himself. When, 
therefore, that mighty dogmatist, about two months 
after, put forth his " Remarks on Several Occa- 
sional Reflections, in answer to Dr. Middleton," 
&c.,^ he devoted to Akenside the whole of a sneer- 
ing and caustic Preface,^ which opens thus : — " In 
the Prefatory Discourse to the first volume of the 
D. [ivine] L. [egation], I spoke pretty largely of 
the Use of Ridicule in religious subjects, as the 
Abuse of it is amongst the fashionable arts of 
Free-thinking, for which I have been just now 
call'd to account, without any ceremony, by the 
nameless author of a poem entitled ' The Plea- 
sures of Imagination.' For 'ti8 my fortune to be 
still concerned with those who either do go masked, 

1 Published in March, 1744 : see the Daily Post for the 16th 
of that month. 

2 This Preface was afterwards reprinted, with some slight 
alterations, as a "Postscript to the Dedication to the Free- 
thinkers," in a new edition of the " Divine Legation of Moses." 
Both ]Mr. D'Israeli (Quarrels of Authors, i. 97) and Mr. Bucke 
(Life of Akenside, 37) seem not to know where Warburton's 
attack on the poet originally appeared. 



24 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

or those who should. I am a plain man, and, on 
my first appearance in this way, I told my name 
and who I belonged to. After this, if men will 
rudely come upon me in disguise, they can have 
no reason to complain, that (in my ignorance of 
their characters) I treat them all alike upon the 
same free footing they have put themselves. This 
gentleman, a follower of Ld. S.[haftesbury], and, 
as it should seem, one of those to whom that Pre- 
face was addressed, — certainly one of those to 
whom I applied the words of Tully, Non decet, non 
datum est ; who affect wit and raillery on subjects 
not meet, and with talents unequal, — this gentle- 
man, I say, in the 105th and 106th pages of his 
Poem, animadverts upon me in the following 
manner : ' Since it is,^ says he, ' beyond all con- 
tradictiony evident that we have a natural sense or 
feeling of the ridiculous^ and since so good a reason 
may he assigned to justify the Supreme Being for 
bestowing it, one cannot, without astonishment, 
reflect on the conduct of those men who imagine it 
for the service of true religion to vilify and blacken 
it without distinction, and endeavour to persuade us 
that it is never applied but in a bad cause.' " War- 
burton then proceeds to a very minute examination 
of the obnoxious note : ^ he insinuates that Aken- 
side is a deist, even a favourer of atheism ; and, 
though he attacks his philosophy, and not his 

1 See the note on ver. 259 of the third book of " The Plea 
sures of Imagination." 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 25 

poetry, he repeatedly terms him " our poet," in a 
manner truly provoking. In conclusion, he asserts 
that a passage in the third book of the poem is an 
insult to the whole body of the clergy.^ 

"An Epistle to the Rev. Mr. Warburton, occa- 
sioned by his treatment of the Author of the 
Pleasures of Imagination," appeared about six 
weeks after the publication which had called it 
forth.2 Though this angry letter, which displays . 
considerable ingenuity of argument, without much 
grace of style, is generally attributed to the friendly 
pen of Mr. Dyson, I am inclined to believe that 
the greater part of it was composed by Akenside.^ 
The following quotation forms its commence- 
ment: — 

" Sir, — Notwithstanding the pains you have 
taken to discourage all men from entering into 
any controversy with you, and notwithstanding 
the severe example you have just been making 
of one, who, as you fancied, had presumed to call 
you to account, you must still be content to be 

1 " Others of graver mien, behold, adorn'd 
With holy ensigns," &c. 

2 Octavo, price 6d. Published May 1st, 1744: see the 
Daily Post of that date. The motto on the title is, " Neque 
solum quid istum audire, verum etiam quid me deceat dicere, 
considcrabo." — Cic. in Verr. It consists of thirty pages. 

3 In a letter to Mr. Dyson (see p. 31 of this Memoir), 
Akenside desires " a copy of that answer to Warburioii;' to be 
sent to Holland. If it had been entirely the v/ork of his loved 
(or rather adored) friend, would he have mentioned it in such 
terms? 

C 



26 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

accountable for your writings, and must once more 
bear the mortification of being actually called to 
account for them. 

"'Tis the Preface to your late Remarks that 
you are now called upon to justify ; in which you 
have thought fit to treat upon a n\v^\\ij free footing 
(as you stile it, but, in the apprehension of most 
people, upon a very injurious one) the ingenious 
and worthy author of the poem entitled, * The 
Pleasures of Imagination.' The favorable recep- 
tion and applause that performance has met with 
render it unnecessary, and indeed impertinent, for 
me to enlarge in its praise, especially as you. Sir, 
have not condescended to enter into a particular 
censure of the poem : however, by some general 
hints scattered up and down, as well as by the 
affectation of perpetually stiling the author our 
poet, you may have let us see how you stand 
affected towards it. Whether it be indeed that 
dull, trivial, useless thing you seem to represent it, 
I shall not dispute with you ; but am content to 
leave, as to this point, Mr. W.'s judgment staked 
against the general reputation of the poem. The 
point I am immediately concerned with is your 
unbecoming treatment of the author, which, as it 
is so interwoven thro' the whole course of your 
Preface, as to be sufficiently evident, without the 
allegation of particular passages, so we shall find 
there are not wanting repeated instances of direct 
and notorious ill usage; such usage, as tho' the 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 27 

provocation had been ever so just, and the ima- 
gined attack upon you ever so real, would yet 
have been unwari^ntable ; and which, therefore, 
can't admit of the least shadow of an excuse, when 
it shall appear that you had really no provocation 
at all. For the very fact with which you set out, 
and which is the foundation, I suppose, of all your 
indignation, is an entire mistake. You tell us, 
you have been just now called to account, ^c. This, 
I say, is an absolute mistake. And, as for my 
own part, I never suspected that the note you refer 
to had any thing personal in it, so I am authorized 
to affirm that it was not at all intended personally." 

To this letter, Warburton returned no answer. 
In the remodelled copy of his poem, Akenside 
reduced into a comparatively short passage the 
lines which treat of Ridicule, and which were 
certainly the least pleasing portion of the work. 
He doubtless writhed under Warburton's vigorous 
attack, for which,, as will be shown in the course 
of this memoir, he, long after, made a sort of re- 
quital. 

Though the " Epistle to Warburton " appears 
not to have been published, it was certainly printed, 
before Akenside went to Leyden for the purpose 
of obtaining the degree of Doctor of Physic. This 
is proved by an allusion to it in the first of the 
following very interesting letters^ to his beloved 
friend, Mr. Dyson. The erroneous statement of 
1 Now first published. 



28 MFE OF AKENSIDE. 

his biographers, that he visited Holland at an 
earlier period than 1744, has been already no- 
ticed. 

" Leyden, April 7th, N. S. 1744. 

" Deah Dyson, — At last I am in a condition 
to recollect myself sulllciently to write to you. 
p:ver since I left you, I have been from hour to 
hour ingag d by a succession of most trivial cir- 
cumstances, and yet importunate enough to force 
my attention from those objects to which it most 
naturally and habitually inclines. I now begin to 
respire, and can fancy myself at Lincoln's Inn, 
meeting you after a very tedious absence of eight 
days, and telling the little occurrences I have met 
with ; a story in other respects too inconsiderable 
to be repeated ; but which, in repeating it to my 
friend, acquires an importance superior to the 
annals of a king's posterity. 

" I went on board from Harwich on Thursday 
morning, and got ashore at Helvoetsluys just 
about the same time on Saturday. I was not in 
the least sick. I am now settled in Roebuck's 
chamber, the same house with Mr. Drew and 
Brocklesby. This last was the only one of my 
acquaintance I found here ; and I dare say, if you 
were now to return to Leyden, you would think 
the acquaintance of those Avho have come hither 
since you went away, very, very far from compen- 
sating the loss of those whose conversation you 
had the happiness to injoy. There are not above 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 29 

ten or twelve English, Scotch, and Irish now at 
Ley den. 

" As I was in the street yesterday, INIr. Schwartz, 
who had been told by somebody or other that I 
was a iriend of JNIr. Dyson's, came up to me, and 
inquir'd very affectionately alter you. I am just 
come from sitting the afternoon with him; he 
could hardly talk of any thing but you, yet com- 
plains that you neglect to write to him. He is 
uncertain whether he shall be in London this sum- 
mer or not; but says he is very well acquainted 
with all the streets there, he has so carefully, 
studied them in the map. I love the good nature 
and simplicity of his manners, and love his com- 
pany more than anybody's in Leyden ; for I see 
that whenever we are together, we shall fall a 
talking about you immediately. 

"I have been with Mr. Gronovius^ and the 
Doctor, who make an excellent contrast, both as 
to their manners and studies ; about the latter of 
these, they are constantly rallying and joking on 
each other. Mr. Gronovius shew'd me his iS'ican- 
der, about which he has taken vast pains. He has 
above six hundred emendations of the text, and 
scholia, but wants an unpublish'd paraphrase of 
the author, which, it seems, is in a library at 
Vieima. He talks of making this little book as 
large as his last ^lian. I wish you could get the 

1 i.e. Abraham Gronovius. The "Nicander" here men- 
tioned was never pubUshed. 



30 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

Pindar, which I hear is probably by this time 
finish'd at Glasgow, in one volume, the same size 
and type with the Theophrastus. Mr. Brocklesby 
tells me of an edition of Shaftesbury in the press 
at Dublin, with new copperplates ; to which a fourth 
volume will be added, consisting of the two epis- 
tolary pamphlets and unpublish'd letters of Ld. 
Moles worth to my^ master. 

" I will not spend time in giving you my senti- 
ments of Holland or Leyden, they are so intirely 
the same with what you express'd to me. One 
thing struck me very strongly, the absurd incon- 
sistence between their ceremonious foppishness 
(miscalled politeness) and their gross insensibi- 
lity to the true decorum in numberless instances, 
especially among the women. Such is their archi- 
tecture, their painting, their music; such their 
dress, the furniture of their houses, the air of 
their chariots, and the countenance of their polity, 
— that, when I think of England, I cannot now 
help paying it the same veneration and applause 
which at London I thought due only to Athens, 
to Corinth, or to Syracuse. You, who know Hol- 
land, will excuse me for talking in this way, after 
60 short a view of it as I have had ; ^ because you 

1 An allusion to the rreface to " iJemarks on Occasional 
Keflections," ike, in which Warburton more than once culls 
Shaftesbury Akenside's " blaster." 

2 This passage decidedly proves that Akenside had not 
previously visited Holland. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 31 

know how obvious these appearances are, and 
how great an uniformity runs through the whole 
constitution of the country, natural and moral. 

" Mr. Ready is well, and sends his service ; as 
do all your other acquaintances. You will soon 
see Mr. Drew, for he is a printing his Thesis, and 
takes London in his way home. 

" Be so good as to present my compliments to 
Mrs. Dyson, Miss Dyson, and all the rest of your 
friends and mine. You will know whom I mean 
without a list of them ; only, lest you should not 
think on them, allow me to mention Mr. Ward and 
Mr. Ramsay. And pray forget not to make my 
apology to Mr. Pickering ; for I utterly forgot to 
call upon him at my leaving London, which has 
since vex'd me not a little. 

" Be sure you write to me immediately. Let 
me know how you manage about the Basilica, and 
what information Mr. Ramsay has given you. If 
you call at Dodsley's, he will give you a copy of 
that answer to Warburton : I should be glad if you 
could send it inclos'd in your first letter, and if you 
could give me your opinion about Dr. Armstrong's 
Poem.^ Write me a very long letter, and direct it 
lo Mc-Carthy's. I think I am rather freer than I 
should have been if boarding ; tho', heaven knows, 
my pleasure at noon is meerly in dining, properly 
so call'd. Farewell, my friend, my good genius ; 

1 The Alt of Preserving Health. 



82 LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 

and, above all things, believe me for ever most 
affectionately, most intirelj, only yours, 

" M. Akinside." 

" Leyden, April 17th, N. S. 1744. 
"Dear Mr. Dyson, — I had not been above 
four days at Leyden before two of my Edinburgh 
acquaintances, Mr. Austin and Mr. Hume, came 
hither from their winter quarters at Ghent, to 
make the tour of Holland. I was glad of the 
opportunity to go along with them, as I had no 
prospect of any company so desirable. At my 
re"turn, I found your letter, by which I see we had 
been writing to each other precisely at the same 
time. I always was afraid you would be uneasy 
in waiting so long for a letter ; and indeed I should 
have wrote directly from Helvoetsluys, but for a 
mistaken supposition that the post went from 
Leyden on Saturday night, and that consequently 
I should save no time by writing before I got to 
my journey's end. Would to God this may fmd 
you perfectly recover'd and in free spirits : I dare 
not, I cannot suffer my imagination to conceive 
otherwise. The whole day after we parted, I was 
dreading the consequence of your being abroad 
in so damp a morning, and lodging in that vile inn, 
at a time when your health was far from being 
confirmed. In every other circumstance, I need 
not tell you what happiness your letter gave me. 
Believe me, my dear, my honour'd friend, I look 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 33 

upon my connection with you as the most fortunate 
circumstance of my life. I never think of it 
without being happier and better for the reflection, 
I injoy, by means of it, a more animated, a more 
perfect relish of every social, of every natural 
pleasure. My own character, by means of it, is 
become an object of veneration and applause to 
myself My sense of the perfection and goodness 
of the Supreme Being is nobler and more affecting. 
It is that good, that beauty, with which my mind is 
fiU'd, and which serves as a sacred antidote against 
the influence of that moral evil which is in the 
world, when it would perplex and distress me. It« 
has the force of an additional conscience, of a new 
principle of religion ; nor do I remember one 
instance of moral good or evil offer'd to my choice 
of late, in which the idea of your mind and man- 
ners did not come in along with the essential 
beauty of virtue and the sanction of the divine 
laws to guide and determine me. It has inlarg'd 
my knowledge of human nature, and ascertain'd 
my ideas of the oeconomy of the universe. In 
whatever light I consider, with whatever principle 
or sensation I compare it, it still continues to re- 
ceive strength from the best and highest, and in 
return confirm and inlarge them, 

like the sweet south 
That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
Giving and stealing odours. 

I have sometimes, when in a cold or more scepti- 



34 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

cal turn of thought than is natural to my temper, 
hesitated whether this afFeetion might not and did 
not too much engross my mind. But in a moment 
I saw, and you, my friend, know and feel with 
what satisfaction not to be described, that it was 
impossible to indulge it too much, in any other 
sense than as it is possible to carry too far our 
regard for the Supreme Being; that is, to lose 
sight of its natural tendency, and run counter to 
the very spirit with which it was instituted : in 
other words, while we continue to cultivate our 
friendship", intire and extensive as its foundations 
now are, it cannot ingross our minds too much, or 
exert too general an influence on our conduct. 

" Perhaps you expect some account of my tra- 
vels. Indeed I cannot say more than that they 
confirm'd all my former ideas of the Dutch genius 
and taste. Minute and careful in execution, but 
flat and inelegant and narrow in design. Their 
buildings, their gardens, their civil forms, every 
thing, give the same information. At Amsterdam 
I saw a Dutch tragedy, which, tho' intended to be 
really distressful, was yet farcical beyond any 
thing in Aristophanes or the Rehearsal. And 
these farcical parts were the only things that 
mov'd the audience in the very least degree. And 
in the middle of the distress, in those boxes where 
people of the best figure use to sit, the glass and 
brandy bottle was going about among both men 
and women. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. S5 

"As for my acquaintance here, it lies chiefly, 
almost -wholly, among the gentlemen that lodge 
with Mr. Vanderlas : the others, at the ordhiary, 
have given me no reason to alter the account you 
had in my last. Mr. Ready, as far as I am able 
to judge, is a very amiable man, and much a 
gentleman ; and young Mr. Canowan, I hope, will 
turn out very well in the world, especially as I 
see he is much less attach'd to the bigotry and 
narrow spirit of the Roman Catholic religion. Mr. 
Schwartz spent this afternoon with me, and all 
salute you. I need not desire you to express for 
me the warmest sentiments of friendship and 
respect to Mrs. Dyson and Miss Dysons, nor to 
remember me to all our other friends. I am 
within five minutes of the post, and very sorry 
to part so soon. Farewell, my dearest Dyson. 
Ever yours, " M. Akinside." 

" Friday Evening. 

" To Mr. Dyson, at Serle's Coflfee-liouse, 

Lincoln's Inn, London." 

" Leyden, April 21st, N. S. 1744. 
"My dearest Dyson, — I have just received 
and read your letter, by which I find we have 
been a second time imploy'd in writing to each 
other at the same instant : from what sympathetic 
influence of our minds one upon the other, or 
what invisible agency of superior genii favourable 
to friendship, I cannot tell. But that your 
writing was a sort of present and immediate se- 



36 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

curity for your being tolerably well, I should 
have been much alarm'd at the account you give 
of the return of your disorder. But now I hope 
'tis fairly over, and that you have laid in a stock 
of health and good spirits for a very long time. 
For my own part, since I left you, I have indeed 
been well, in the vulgar sense of the phrase ; that 
is to say, my appetite, my sleeps, my pulse, and 
the rest of that kind, have been regular and sound : 
but the other more desirable sort of good health, 
that which consists in the perfect, the harmonious 
possession of one's own mind, in the exercise of 
its best facultys upon those objects which are most 
adapted to it by nature and habit, and, above all 
things, in that conscious, that inexplicable feeling 
that we are happy, — this kind of health, I confess, 
I have not injoy'd so intire for these three weeks ; 
nor do I expect to injoy it, till I return to that 
situation which taught me first to conceive it. The 
more I see of Holland (and I imagine the case 
would be the same were I to travel thro' the 
world), the more I love and honour my native 
country. The manners of the people, the political 
forms, the genius of the constitution, the temper 
of the laws, the accidental objects of dress and 
behaviour one meets with in the streets, the very 
face of their buildings, and outward appearance 
of the country in general, only serve to put me 
in mind of England, with a greater desire of re- 
turning. In the same manner as all that variety 



LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 37 

of mix'd company I have pass'd tliro' this last 
year or two, only gave me a stronger sense of my 
happiness when I got home to you. 

" I am [at] present buried among medical 
books ; collecting facts, and comparing opinions 
among the dullest of mortal men, and that too, in 
their dullest capacity, that of authors. However, 
I hope this necessary task will grow more agree- 
able, when I shall be at leisure to attend to the 
justness of argument and the decency of expres- 
sion. As I spend no time so agreeably as in 
reading your letters, or (next to that) in convers- 
ing with you even after this imperfect manner, 
I could not forbear sitting down immediately to 
write, especially as I was so much straitened for 
time last post. I am very glad that people shew 
so much unanimity about the war against France ; 
and, for my own part, I have not the least doubt 
of the superiority of our national spirit, and con- 
sequently of our success in general : only I am 
afraid that we shall want generals, and that the 
war will be too much carried on, on our part, by 
land. I can't say I was much pleased with the 
declaration of war (I mean the formula, not the 
thing) : the style seem'd to me rather that of a 
private man clearing himself from some unbe- 
coming imputations, than that of the chief magis- 
trate of a mighty and free people proclaiming 
war against the most formidable people in the 
world, in defence of justice, and drawn to it by 



38 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

the disinterested succour of an oppress'd and 
insulted ally. The speech to the parliament I 
could not indeed but approve : there was an ex- 
pression either in it, or in the declaration against 
France, quite equal to the occasion : ' I appeal to 
the whole world for the equity and rectitude of 
my conduct.' It is certainly very great, and has 
but one impropriety (indeed, a very essential 
one), that the honour due to the people of Britain 
for the generosity and fearless love of justice they 
have, under such vast pressures, manifested upon 
this occasion, is by this way of speaking, una- 
voidable in our government, attributed to one 
man, who has no other merit in the affair, than 
meerly in not imbezzling the vast sums which 
have been advanc'd in support of the common 
cause. 

" You would see by my last that I cannot finish 
my affairs here so soon as you suppos'd. But 
what time I lost in the beginning by going to 
Amsterdam, &c., I shall gain towards the end of 
my stay here ; so that I hope to be in London, at 
least in England, within a month at latest. I have 
long indulg'd myself in an agreeable prospect of 
settling at S., chiefly because of my opportunity of 
seeing you frequently, and next to that (if indeed 
it be not a consideration more important), in mak- 
ing such acquaintances during the summer seasons, 
as might put it sooner in my power to spend the 
remainder of my life without interruption beside 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 39 

you. But since the expectation was ill founded, 
we must make ourselves easy, and look out in 
Northampton, or any other place tolerably near 
home. For of this one thing I am certain : never 
to be far from you. I would have you write as 
soon as you can, if it be but to tell me how long 
your journey to Shropshire will take you; because, 
if you determine to go thither, I shall take ship- 
ping from Rotterdam to Newcastle, as you will 
probably be gone before I can reach London even 
by the pacquet. At this moment, while I write 
this, I feel something of the pain of a second 
parting. 

" As the auctions were almost intirely over be- 
fore I got hither, I have not bought many books, 
nor expect to buy many. I have, however, got a 
few classics, and such medical books as are most 
useful at present. Those that are rather for 
curiosity and medical erudition, I shall leave com- 
missions for with some acquaintance or other. I 
find what you told me to be very true, that the old 
and best editions of the Greek authors are dearer 
here than in London. Mr. Gronovius tells me, 
what perhaps you do not know, that Mr. Freeman 
is to return to Leyden ; by which I judge he has 
intirely dedicated himself 'to Greek (properly so 
call'd) and to editorial criticism (excuse the phrase). 
I think Gronovius one of the strangest men I 
ever met with. 

" Farewell, my dear friend. I know you oft 



40 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

think of me, and need not be told liow oft and liow 
aflfectionately I remember you. 

" Ever and entirely yours, 

" Mark Akinside." 
" Tuesday Afternoon." 

" P. S. I wish you would leave off writing upon 
gilt paper, unless you can get sheets of it as large 
as this. I forgot to tell you, that Wetstein at 
Amsterdam shew'd me the unfinish'd Diodorus 
Siculus ; it is printed exactly like the last Thucy- 
dides, but how accurately I cannot tell. Forget 
not my compliments at Charter-house Square, nor 
to Mr. Harrison, Mr. Dyson, and the rest of our 
friends. Mr. Gronovius, Mr. Schwartz, -Mr. Rea- 
dy, and all yours here salute you. 

" I have just been at Langeratu's to inquire 
about the Basilica, but, not finding him, must 
refer it to another opportunity." 

On the 16th of May, 1744,^ Akenside took his 
degree of Doctor of Physic at Leyden, the subject 
of his Dissertatio Ifedica Inauguralis being " De 
ortu et incremento foetus humani ; ^ and, doubtless, 

1 The coiTcctness of this date is ascertained by an entry in 
the annals of the College of Physicians, London, which states 
that Akenside, on the 20th June, 1761, produced his Diploma 
from the University of Leyden, &;c. — See p. 62 of this Me- 
moir. 

2 Printed at Leyden, in 1744, 4to. " In this dissertation, 
the author is said to have displayed his medical sagacity, by 
attacking some opinions of Leeuwenhoek and other writers, at 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 41 

as soon as he had obtained his diploma, he hastened 
back to England. In the collection of odes, which 
he published in the following year, is an ode " On 
leaving Holland." 

He was now desirous to commence the practice 
-of his profession ; and having heard that he had a 
prospect of succeeding at Nortliampton, and having 
made some necessary inquiries on tlie spot, in 
June, 1744,^ he soon after fixed himself there as a 
physician. It was not long, however, before he 
found that the chief medical business of the place 
was in the hands of Dr. Stonehouse, from whom 
it was not to be wrested by a stranger ;2 and, 

that time very generally received, but which have been since 
discarded by the best physicians and philosophers; and by 
proposing an hypothesis Avhich is now considered as founded 
in truth." — Biog. Brit. 

1 From the information of Mr. Dyson (October 25th, 1834), 
who thus describes the contents of one of the poet's letters to 
his father: " On the 14th June [1744], he Avrites from North- 
ampton to report the result of his inquiries in relation to the 
expediency of his setthng there, which was such as induced 
him to do so." 

'■^ A coiTCspondent (who signs himself Indagator) in the 
Gent. :Mag. for October, 1793 (Ixiii. 885), -^vrites thus: "The 
fact, Mr. Urban, is, that this contest for the physical business 
at Northampton, though unsuccessful on the part of Akenside, 
had for some time been supported by him with extraordinary 
violence. I am warranted, by manuscripts in my possession, 
when I say, that not only a fair and open struggle of medical 
hostilities, but every art and every exertion, personal abuse 
and private insinuation, had been used to usurp Dr. Stone- 
house's professional emoluments, and oust him from his esta- 
blished settlement. Yet, on Akenside's removal from that 
D 



42 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

having maintained a fruitless contest with that 
gentleman, and perhaps disliking Northampton on 
account of its distance from the capital, he quitted 
it, after a stay of about eighteen months, and 
removed to Hampstead. " The writer of this 
article," says Kippis, in a note on our author's 
" Life," ^ " who then resided at Northampton for 
education, well remembers that Dr. Doddridge 
and Dr. Akenside carried on an amicable debate 
concerning the opinions of the ancient philoso- 
phers with regard to a future state of rewards and 
punishments ; in which Dr. Akenside supported 
the firm belief of Cicero, in particular, in this 
great article of natural religion." According to 

place to Hampstead, the recommendatory letter, a copy of 
which I send you, was generously WTitten in his favour by his 
worthy rival, as an introduction for liim to a gentleman of con- 
sequence in the neighbourhood of liis new abode." 

" Dear Sir, — The gentleman who presents you with this 
is Dr. Akenside, a brother physician, whose merit, as a man of 
refined sense and elegance of taste, is too well known by his 
writings (The Pleasures of the Imagination, &c.) to need any 
other testimonial ; and, I dare say, from what you already know 
of them, you will naturally conclude, without any praise of 
mine, that such a man must be proportionably distinguished 
in the neighboui'hood of his own peculiar pi'ofession. 

" I take this opportunity of introducing him to the honour of 
your acquaintance, and mak^ no doubt you will receive him 
as a gentleman, whom, for liis character and abilities, I much 
esteem, and whose near neiglibourhood, in any place where 
there had been room for us both, I should have regarded as an 
addition to my happiness. I am," &c. 

See, too, Gent. Mag. for January, 1794 (Ixiv. 12). 

I Biog. Brit 



LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 43 

Johnson, who heartily disliked his political creed, 
and never loses an opportunity of stigmatising it, 
Akenside " deafened the place with clamours for 
liberty."! 

During his stay at Northampton (in 1744), he 
produced his very powerful satire, " An Epistle to 
Curio," ^ i. e. to Pulteney, who, having been long 
the strenuous supporter of the people's cause in 
opposition to the measures of the government, had 
suddenly deserted his party, and become an object 
of popular execration, for the sake of an empty 
title, the Earldom of Bath. This justly-admired 
piece he afterwards injudiciously altered into an 
ode. 

The following letter, undoubtedly genuine, and 
never before printed in England, is given from a 
fac-simile of the original in an American edition 
of our author's works : ^ — 

" Northampton, ^May 21st, 1745. 
" Dear Sir, — When I look on the date of 
your letter, I am very glad that I have any excuse, 
however disagreeable, for not answering it long 

1 Life of Akenside. 

2 Quarto, price Is. See List of Books for November, 1744, 
in the Gent. Mag. On the title-page is tliis motto: " Xeque 
tarn ulciscendi causa dixi, quam ut et in proesens sceleratos 
cives timore ab impugnanda patria detinerem; et in posterum 
documentum statuerem, nequis talem amentiam vellet hni- 
tari." — Tail 

8 Printed at New Bninswick, New Jersey, 1808, 2 vols. Svo. 



44 ' LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

ere this. About a month ago, when I was think- 
ing every post to write to yon, I was thrown from 
my horse, with a very great hazard of my hfe, and 
confined a good while afterwards from either 
writing or reading. But, thank Heaven, for these 
ten days I have been perfectly well. You are 
very good-natured about the verses. If they gave 
you any pleasure, I shall conclude my principal 
end in publishing them to be fairly answer'd. 
And that you look upon your reading them in 
manuscript, and this way of seeing them in print, 
as an instance of real friendship, gives me great 
satisfaction. As for public influence, if they have 
any, I hope it will be a good one. But my expec- 
tations of that kind are not near so sanguine as 
they once were. Indeed, human nature, in its 
genuine habit and constitution, is adapted to very 
powerful impressions from this sort of entertain- 
ment ; but, in the present state of manners and 
opinions, it is almost solely on the retir'd and stu- 
dious of nature that this effect can be looked for ; 
for hardly any besides these have been able to pre- 
serve the genuine habit of the mind in any tolerable 
degree. I am, dear Sir, your most obedient and 
most humble servant, " M. Akinside." 

"ToM. Wilkes, jim. 
St. Jolm's-strcet, London." 

Here, probably, he alludes to his "Odes on 
Several Subjects," which had been published more 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 45 

than two ^ months before the date of this letter, 
and which require particuLar notice, though they 
have not obtained the shghtest mention from Mr. 
Bucke. They are prefiiced by an Advertisement 
worthy of preservation : — " The following Odes 
were written at very distant intervals, and with a 
view to very different manners of expression and 
versification. The author pretends chiefly to the 
merit of endeavouring to be correct, and of carefully 
attending to the best models. From what the 
ancients have left of this kind, perhaps the Ode 
may be allowed the most amiable species of 
poetry; but certainly there is none which in 
modern languages has been generally attempted 
with so little success. For the perfection of lyric 

1 -Quarto, price Is. 6d. See List of Books for ]\Iarch, 1745, 
in the Gent. Mag. This tract consists of fifty-four pages, and 
has the follo^ving motto from Pindar : — 

Xpvabv EvxovTaL, nedlov S'eTepoL 
anepavTov lycj 6'aarolg addv, Kal 
XOovL yvla KaXvrpat- 
{i\ aivtuv alvTjTu, fiofi- 
(puv 6'emaTi£ipuv okiTpolg. 

Another edition of these Odes, in small octavo, was printed in 
the same year. Horace Walpole A\Tites to Sir H. ;Mann, March 
29th, 1745 : " There is another of these tame geniuses, a Mr. 
Akenside, Avho writes odes; in one he has lately published, he 
says, ' Light the tapers, urge the fire.' Had you not rather 
make gods jostle in the dark, than light the candles for fear 
they should break their heads V "— Z,e«ers, i.fc. ii. 32. Wal- 
pole's editor, in a kindred spirit, calls the Pleasures of Imagi- 
nation " a poem of some merit.'" 



46 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

poetry depends, beyond that of any other, on the 
beauty of words and the gracefulness of numbers ; 
in both which respects the ancients had infinite 
advantages abov^ us. A consideration which will 
alleviate the author's disappointment, if he, too, 
should be found to have miscarried." The con- 
tents of this tract are : I. Allusion to Horace 
[now entitled Preface to Odes, Book I.]. II. On 
the Winter Solstice. III. Against Suspicion. IV. 
To a Gentleman whose Mistress had married an 
Old Man [now entitled To a Friend Unsuccessful 
in Love]. V. Hymn to Cheerfulness. VI. On 
the Absence of the Poetic Inclination [now enti- 
tled To the Muse]. VII. To a Friend on the 
Hazard of Falling in Love [now entitled On Love, 
to a Friend]. VIIL On Leaving Holland. IX. 
To ^leep. X. On Lyric Poetry. A new edition 
of these Odes, materially altered and improved, 
was published in 1760; and, after the author's 
death, they were again reprinted, with still farther 
alterations, in that collection of his various Odes 
which he had left behind him for the press. How 
the text, as finally arranged, differs from that of the . 
first edition, the following quotations will evince. 
A celebrated stanza in the Ode " On the Winter 
Solstice " is now read thus : — 

" Hence the loud city's busy throngs 
Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire ; 
Hannonious dances, festive songs, 
Against the spiteful heaven conspire. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 47 

Meantime perhaps, with tender fears, 
Some village-dame the curfew hears, 
While round the hearth her children play: 
At morn their father went abroad ; 
The moon is sunk, and deep the road; 
She sighs, and wonders at his stay." 

It stood in the edition of 1745 : — 

" Now, through the town, promiscuous throngs 
Urge the warm bowl and ruddy fire ; 
Harmonious dances, festive songs, 
To charm the midnight hours conspire. 
While, mute and shrinking with her fears, 
Each blast the cottage-matron hears. 
As o'er the hearth she sits alone : 
At mom her bridegi-oom went abroad ; 
The night is dark, and deep the road ; 
She sighs, and wishes him at home." 

The Ode " To a Friend Unsuccessful in Love " 
now ends thus : — 

" just escap'd the faithless main. 
Though driven unfiling on the land, 
To guide your favour' d steps again, 
Behold your better Genius stand ! 
Where Truth revolves her page divine. 
Where Virtue leads to Honour's shrine. 
Behold he lifts his awful hand ! 

" Fix but on these your ruling aim, 
And Time, the sire of manly care, 
Will Fancy's dazzling colours tame, 
A soberer dress Avill Beauty Avear ; 
Then shall Esteem, by Knowledge led, 
Enthrone within your heart and head 
Some happier love, some truer fair." 



48 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

It formerly concluded : — 

" just escap'd the faithless main, 
Though driven unwilHng on the land, 
To guide your favour'd steps again, 
Behold your better Genius stand ! 
Where Plato's olive courts your eye, 
Where Hamden's laurel blooms on high, 
He lifts his heaven-du-ected hand. 

" When these are blended on your bro"W, 
The willow Avill be nam'd no more; 
Or if that love-deserted bough 
The pitying, laughing girls deplore, 
Yet still shall I most freely swear 
Your dress has much a better air 
Than all that ever bridegroom wore." 

In the Ode " On Lyric Poetry " we now find : — 

" Yet then did Pleasure's lawless throng, 
Oft inishing forth in loose attire, 
Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song. 
Pollute with impious revels dire. 
fair, chaste ! thy echoing shade 
May no foul discord here invade ; 
Nor let thy strings one accent move. 
Except what Earth's untroubled ear, 
'Mid all her social tribes, may hear. 
And Heaven's unerring throne approve." 

The lines were originally : — 

" But oft amid the Grecian throng, 
The loose-rob' d forms of wild Desire, 
With lawless notes intun'd thy song. 
To shameful steps dissolv'd thy quire. 
fair, chaste, be still with me 
From such profaner discord free; 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 49 

While I frequent thy tuneful shade, 
No frantic shouts of Thracian dames, 
No Satp-s fierce with savage flames, 
Thy pleasing accents shall invade." 

When this collection first appeared, the Odes of 
Collins and Gray had not been published; and it 
therefore formed (with all its imperfections) the 
most valuable accession which the lyric poetry of 
England had received since Dryden's time, if we 
except the single Ode of Pope.^ 

Concerning the Ode "Against Suspicion," we 
are told by Mr. Bucke that it was addressed to a 
self-tormenting friend, who had been seized with 
groundless jealousy, because his wife used to 
indulge in certain " innocent freedoms " with her 
male acquaintances, and who, in his distress, had 
applied to Akenside for advice.^ 

1 Of the mass of nonsense, which, under the title of " Pin- 
daric Odes," was poured out towards the close of the seven- 
teenth and during the early part of the eighteenth century, 
the reader who has not examined it can have no conception. 
The very worst piece of the kind I ever met with is a long 
Ode by Theobald, " On the Union," prmted in 1707, which 
begins : — 

"Haste, Polyhymnia, haste; thy shell prepare; 
I hare a message thou must bear, 
But to the car a tsalamander tie ; 
Thou canst not on a sunbeam play," &c. 

Yet, in an intimate acquaintance with Grecian and early 
English poetry, Theobald excelled most of his contempora- 



nes 



2 Life of Akenside, 49. Mr. Bucke does not give Ms autho- 
rity for the anecdote. 



50 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

That our author, after quitting Northampton, 
proceeded to try his fortune as a physician at 
Hampstead, has been already noticed. In Febru- 
ary, 1747, Mr. Hardinge^ resigned his office of 
Clerk to the House of Commons, in favor of Mr. 
Dyson, for six thousand pounds ; and the latter, 
bidding adieu to the bar, purchased a villa at 
North End, Hampstead, for the purpose of intro- 
ducing Akenside to the chief persons in the neigh- 
bourhood. " There," says Sir John Hawkins, " they 
dwelt together during the summer season, fre- 
quenting the long room, and all clubs, and assem- 
blies of the inhabitants." ^ But, if we may believe 
the statements of this writer, who knew him well, 
Akenside, by a want of "discretion," frustrated 
the kind endeavours of Mr. Dyson to forward his 
views. At the meetings just mentioned, which 
were attended by wealthy persons of ordinary 
endowments, who could only talk of the occurrences 
of the day, he made an ostentatious display of that 
talent for conversation which had distinguished 
him in more enlightened society, became involved 
in disputes that betrayed him into a contempt of 
those who differed from his opinions, was taunt- 
ingly reminded of his low birth and dependence 
on Mr. Dyson, and was reduced to the necessity 
of asserting in plain terms that he was a gentle- 

1 See an account of this gentleman, Mr. Nicholas Hardinge, 
in Nichols's Illust. of Lit. Hist. iii. 5. 

a Life of Johnson, 243, ed. 1787. \^( 



LIFK OF AKENSIDE. 51 

man. Bj a residence of about two years and a 
half at riampstead, he gained nothing but the con- 
viction that he had chosen a situation which did 
not suit him. Mr. Dyson, therefore, parted with 
his villa at North End ; settled his friend in a 
small but handsome house in Bloomsbury Square, 
London ; and, with a generosity almost unexampled, 
allowed him annually such a sum of money (stated 
to have been three hundred pounds)^ as enabled 
him to keep a chariot, and to command the com- 
forts and elegancies of life. 

Mr. Bucke has suppressed the observations of 
Hawkins on Akenside's want of success at Hamp- 
stead, and attributes it entirely to the insolence 
of the purse-proud inhabitants, whom the high- 
minded poet would not stoop to court. They 
were, perhaps, not a little supercilious and over- 
bearing; but the tone assumed by Mr. Bucke in 
treating the subject could only be warranted by 
his having resided among them at the period in 
question, and having frequently witnessed their 
behaviour towards Akenside.^ 

1 The sum was probably greater. Sir John Hawkins says, 
that Mr. Dyson " assigned for his support such a pari of his 
income as enabled him to keep a chariot," Id. 244; and ^Ir. 
Justice Hardinge, in some anecdotes which will be afterwards 
given in this Memoir, asserts that Akenside "hved incompara- 
bly well." 

2 " They required to be sought; their wives and daughters 
expected to be escoi'ted and flattered, and their sons to be 
treated with an air of obligation," &c. — Life of Akenside, 70. 



52 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

To return to the notice of his works. In 1746 
he wrote his truly classical " Hymn to the Naiads," ^ 
and (according to Mr. Bucke) his Ode " To the 
Evening Star ; " ^ he also contributed to Dodsley's 
excellent periodical publication, " The Museum, 
or Literary and Historical Register," several 
prose-papers, which deserve to be reprinted, and 
from which I regret that the necessary shortness 
of this Memoir will not allow me to offer some 
extracts ; viz. On Correctness,^ The Table of 
Modern Fame — a Vision,^ Letter from a Swiss 
Gentleman on English Liberty,^ and The Balance 
of Poets.^ In 1747 he composed a couple of 
stanzas "On a Sermon against Glory,"' and an 

1 First printed in Dodsley's Coll. of Poems, vol. vi. 1758. 

2 Life of Akenside, 52. — Printed, without a date, in Iklr. 
Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772. 

8 Museum, i. 84. — Two passages of this Essay are cited by 
J. Warton (Pope's Works, i. 264, iv. 190); and Mr. Bucke, not 
knowing from what piece they were derived, supposes that 
Warton quoted from the conversation of Akenside ! — Life 
of Akenside^ 105. 

4 iluseum, i. 481. — It is an imitation of the eighty-first 
number of "The Tatler." J. Warton (Pope's Works, ii. 83), 
attributing it to Akenside, says, " The guests are introduced 
and ranged with that taste and judgment which is peculiar to 
the author." It is strange that Akenside should have omitted 
to introduce (though lie quotes) Shakespeare in this Vision. 

6 Museum, ii. 161. — On the authority of Mr. A. Chalmers 
(Biog. Diet. art. Akenside)^ who possesses J. Warton's copy of 
"The Museum:" see Brit. Poets, xviii. 76. 

6 Museum, ii, 165 (mispaged). — On the authority of Isaac 
Reed. 

' Printed in Mr. Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772. 



LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 63 

" Ode to the Earl of Huntingdon," which was pub- 
lished in the following * year, and is perhaps the 
most perfect of his efforts in lyric poetry. About 
the same time, he composed his " Ode to Caleb 
Hardinge, M.D." ^ a talented and eccentric charac- 
ter, of whom, in connection with our poet, some 
anecdotes will be afterwards related. Mr. Dyson, 
we have already seen, had succeeded this gentle- 
man's brother, Mr. Hardinge, as Clerk to the 
House of Commons ; and Akenside had conse- 
quently become acquainted with various members 
of the Hardinge family. The Ode "To Sir 
Francis Henry Drake " ^ was produced, I appre- 
hend, at nearly the same period. In 1749 he 
wrote " The Remonstrance of Shakespeare, sup- 
posed to have been spoken at the Theatre Royal, 
while the French comedians were acting by sub- 
scription ; " * a piece only remarkable for its illi- 
berality. 

Akenside was about the age of twenty-seven, 
when, rendered easy in his circumstances by the 
annual gratuity of Mr. Dyson, he finally took up 
his abode in the metropolis. Thenceforth his 
exertions to advance himself in his profession 
appear to have been unremitting. Though he 
occasionally amused his leisure by composing 
poetry, he gave little of it to the press ; and pub- 

1 Quarto, price Is. See List of Books for January, 1748, in 
the Gent. Mag. 

s Printed in ^Ir. Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772. 
' Printed ibid. * Printed ibid. 



54 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

lished, from time to time, various medical essays. 
His reputation and practice continued to increase 
till his death ; but it is certain that he never 
attained the highest rank in his profession, and 
that his services were never in much request.* 
" A physician in a great city," observes Johnson, 
" seems to be the mere plaything of fortune ; his 
degree of reputation is, for the most part, totally 
casual: they that employ him know not his excel- 
lence ; they that reject him know not his deficience. 
By any acute observer, who had looked on the 
transactions of the medical world for half a cen- 
tury, a very curious book might be written on the 
* Fortune of Physicians.' " ^ According to Sir 
John Hawkins, Akenside's endeavours to become 
popular were defeated by the high opinion which 
he everywhere manifested of himself, his want of 
condescension to those of inferior talents, and his 
love of political controversy. At Tom's Coffee- 
house in Devereux Court, which he frequented in 
the winter evenings, and which was then the resort 
of various eminent men, he would engage in dis- 

1 The newspapers which announce his decease describe 
him as " a physician of very extensive practice; " and Kippis, 
in the Biog. Brit., says, " In a course of time, Dr. Akeiiside 
came into very considerable reputation and practice." On the 
contrary, besides the statements of Dr. Jolmson and Sir John 
Hawkins, it is positively asserted by his friend, ^h•. Justice 
Uardiiige, that " lie certainly had no business or fame" ns a 
medical man: see some anecdotes afterwards cited in this 
Memoir. 

2 Life of Akenside. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 55/ 

putes, chiefly on literature and politics, that fixed 
on his character the stamp of haughtiness and self- 
conceit. 

Among the company who used to assemble 
there, was a little deformed personage, named 
Ballow; a lawyer without practice, holdmg a 
place in the exchequer; vulgar and ill-tempered, 
but of deep and extensive learning. He envied 
the eloquence which Akenside displayed in con- 
versation, hated what he thought his republican 
principles, and affected to treat him as a pretender 
to literature. A violent dispute having arisen 
between them, Akenside, in consequence of some 
expressions uttered by Ballow, demanded an apo- 
logy ; which not being able to obtain, he sent his 
ad^versary a written challenge. Though Ballow 
wore a sword of remarkable length, he had no 
inclination to use it: he declined an answer; and, 
in spite of Akenside's repeated attempts to see 
him, kept close in his lodgings, till the interposition 
of friends had adjusted their difference. Akenside, 
however, gained little reputation for courage by 
thisaffiiir: it was settled, not by the concessions 
of his adversary, but by their mutual obstinacy, — 
the one refusing to fight in the morning, the other 
in the afternoon.^ " Yet," adds Sir John Hawkins, 
1 There is truth in the remark of Mr. Bucke, that "to chal- 
len.e a man Uke BaUow must have been a punishment to the 
sensitive mind of Akenside, in itself sufficient, for havmg given 
way to a weakness so unworthy of a poet of high rank and 
more especially a philosopher of no mean order. - Lije oj 
Akenmk, 179. 



56 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

who writes with no unfriendly feeling towards our 
poet, " where there was no competition for applause 
or literary reputation, he was an easy companion, 
and would bear with such rudeness as would have 
angered almost any one. Saxby, of the Custom- 
house, who was every evening at Tom's, and, by 
the bluntness of his behaviour, and the many 
shrewd sayings he was used to utter, had acquired 
the privilege of Thersites, of saying whatever he 
-would, was once in my hearing inveighing against 
the profession of physic, which Akenside took 
upon him to defend. This railer, after laboring 
to prove that it was all imposture, concluded his 
discourse with this sentiment: 'Doctor,' said he, 
* after all you have said, my opinion of the profes- 
sion of physic is this, — the ancients endeavoured 
to make it a science and failed, and the moderns to 
make it a trade and have succeeded.' Akenside 
took his sarcasm in good part, and joined in the 

laugh which it occasioned Akenside was a 

man of religion and strict virtue, a philosopher, a 
scholar, and a line poet. His conversation was of 
the most delightful kind, learned, instructive, and, 
without any affectation of wit, cheerful and enter- 
taining. One of the pleasantest days of my life I 
passed with him, Mr. Dyson, and another friend, at 
Putney bowling-green house, where a neat and 
elegant dinner, the enlivening sunshine of a sum- 
mer's day, and the view of an unclouded sky, were 
the least of our gratifications. In perfect good- 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. S7 

humour with himself and all around him, he seemed 
to fuel a joy ihat he lived, and poured out his 
gratulations to the great Dispenser of all felicity 
in expressions that Plato himself might have 
uttered on such an occasion. In conversations 
uith select friends, and those whose course of 
study had been nearly the same with his own, it 
was an usual thing with him, in libations to the 
memory of eminent men among the ancients, to 
bring their characters into view, and thereby give 
occasion to expatiate on those particulars of their 
lives that had rendered them famous : his method 
was to arrange them into three classes, — philo- 
sophers, poets, and legislators. 

"That a character thus formed should fail of 
recommending itself to general esteem, and of 
procuring to the possessor of it those benefits 
which it is in the power of mankind to bestow, 
may seem a wonder ; but it is often seen that ne- 
gative qualities are more conducive to this end 
than positive ; and that, with no higher a character 
than is attainable by any one who with a studious 
taciturnity will keep his opinions to himself, con- 
form to the practice of others, and entertain 
neither friendship for nor enmity against any one, 
a competitor for the good opinion of the world, 
nay for emoluments and even dignities, stands a 
better chance of success than one of the most 
established reputation for learning and ingenuity. 
The truth of this observation Akenside himself 
s 



58 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

lived to experience, who, in a competition for the 
phice of physician to the Charter-house, was un- 
able to prevail against an obscure man, devoid of 
every quality that might serve to recommend him, 
and whose sole merit was that of being distantly 
related to the late Lord IIoHand." ' 

Akenside's practice, Mr. Bucke informs us, was 
obstructed by his dislike of being all things to all 
men, and in a still greater degree by his fame as 
a poet.'* I believe that it was greatly impeded by 
his forbiddin^r manner to stran^^^ers : he was ex- 
cessively stiff and formal ; and if any one ventured 
to smile in the apartments of the sick, he checked 
them with a frown. ^ Some anecdotes, which 
charge him with cruelty to hospital-patients, will 
be afterwards cited. That he was a scientific and 
acute physician,* is testified by his works, which 
I have heard more than one member of the pro- 
fession mention in terms of praise. 

Among his friends, and, it should seem, his pa- 
tients, he now included the Honourable Charles 
Townshend, who, for his parliamentary eloquence, 
has been termed by Burke " a prodigy," and who, 
at a later period, became Chancellor of the Ex- 



1 Life of Johnson, pp. 244—248, ed. 1787. 

2 Life of Akenside, 86. 

8 So a Mr. ]\Ieyrick told Mr. Bucke. Id. 29. 

* Mr. Justice Hardinge thought otherwise (see some anec- 
dotes afterwards quoted in this Memoir) ; but his opinion on 
the subject cairies no weight. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 59 

chequer. To this distinguished statesman Aken- 
eide addressed two Odes, the longer of "which is 
dated 1750;^ but, from some unknown cause, their 
friendship subsequently ceased. " Sir," said John- 
son to Boswell, " a man is very apt to complain 
of the ingratitude of those who have risen far 
above him. A man when he gets into a higher 
sphere, into other habits of life, cannot keep up 
all his former connections. Then, sir, those who 
knew him formerly upon a level with themselves 
may think that they ought still to be treated as on 
a level, which cannot be ; and an acquaintance in 
a former situation may bring out things which it 
would be very disagreeable to have mentioned 
before higher company, though perhaps every- 
body knows of them." Boswell presently adds: 
" Dr. Johnson's remark as to the jealousy enter- 
tained of our friends who rise far above us, is 
certainly very just. By this was withered the 
early friendship between Charles Townshend and 
Akenside." The recent editor of Boswell's work 
justly observes that "this is no appropriate in- 
stance. Charles Townshend, — the nephew of the 
prime minister, — the son of a peer, who was se- 
cretary of state, and leader of the House of 
Lords, — was as much above Akenside in their 
earliest days, as at any subsequent period; nor 
was Akenside in rank inferior to Dr. Brocklesbury, 

I Both printed in Mr. Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772. 



60 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

with whom Charles Townshend continued in inti- 
mate friendship to the end of his life." ^ 

In 1750 (according to Mr. Bucke), he also ad- 
dressed an Ode " To William Hall, Esq. with the 
Works of Chaulieu."2 < Mr. Hall belonged to the 
Middle Temple, and moved in the best society; 
composed verses of considerable elegance, and 
was the intimate friend of Markland ; ^ but in li- 
centiousness of life he seems to have exceeded 
the French Abbe whose poems were presented to 
him. 

In 1751, on the appearance of a work from 
the pen of Frederic, king of Prussia, entitled 
"Memoires pour servir a I'Histoire de la Maison 
do Brandebourg," Akenside wrote a short Ode 



1 Boswell's Life of Johnson, ed. Croker, iii. 367-8. Mr. 
Bucke carelessly attributes to Johnson the remark of Boswell, 
on the friendship of Townshend and our poet. — Life, of 
Akenskle, 117. 

2 Printed in Mr. Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772, where 
it has no date. 

8 To Mr. Hall, at whose expense it was originally printed, 
Markland dedicated his treatise " De Grcecorum Quinta Decli- 
natione Imparisylhibica," &c. Hall frequented Tom's Coffee- 
house in Devereux Court (Nichols's Lit. An. iv. 327), where 
perhaps Akenside became acquainted with him. He fell into 
a wretched state of idiotcy, and died a maniac at Bath la 
1766. For pleasing specimens of his poetical powers, see two 
copies of verses to Miss Lawrence in Dodsley's Coll. of Poems, 
V. 219, 329, — " V^acation," "To a Lady very handsome, but 
too fond of dress," and " Anacreon," Ode iii. Id. vi. 163 — 172, 
ed. 1782, — also a " Sonnet on Lauder's Forgeries, to Nicholas 
Hardinge," iu Nichols's Lit. An. viii. 620. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 61 

" To the Author," ^ &c., exposing the dangerous 
tendency of certain passages ; also an " Ode to 
Thomas Edwards," on AVarburton's edition of 
Pope's Works, which will be more particularly 
mentioned when we arrive at the period of its 
publication. 

During the same year, he was held up to ridi- 
cule in the " Peregrine Pickle " of Smollett, who, 
though his propensity to personal satire scarcely 
needed such incitement, is said to have been 
piqued at some reflections^ which the poet had 
cast on Scotland, soon after his return from Edin- 
burgh. That the ode-writing " Doctor," who-raves 
about liberty, and treats his friends to an enter- 
tainment in the manner of the ancients, was 
intended for a caricature of Akenside, would have 
been evident enough, even if the pedant had not 
been made to quote, as his own composition, two 
lines from the "Ode to the Earl of Huntingdon."^ 

In 1753, Akenside was admitted by mandamus 

1 Printed in Mr. Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772. 

2 Moore's Life of Smollett, cxxiii. 

3 " fool! to think the man, whose ample mind must grasp 
whatever yonder stars survey — Pray, Mr. Pallet, what is your 
opinion of that image of the mind grasping the whole universe ? 
For my own part, I can't help thinking it the most happy con- 
ception that ever entered my imagination." — Per. Pickle, ii. 
110, ed. 1751, — and Smollett's Works (by Moore), iii. 330.— 
Desirous, it should seem, of repairing the injustice he had done 
to our author, Smollett, in the Continuation of the Complete 
Hist, of England, says, " Akenside and Armstrong excelled in 
didactic poetry," iv. 126. 



62 LIFE OF AKENSIDB. 

to a Doctor's Degree at Cambridge, and elected 
Fellow of the Royal Society : in 1754 he became 
Fellow of the College of Physicians/ 

That he was unwilling to cross the paths of his 
old antagonist, appears from the following note to 
Dr. Birch : 2 — 

"Dear Sir, — I return you thanks for the 
pleasure which I have had in reading these two 
books. 

1 See Cantab. Grad. — Mr. Bucke eri'oneously states that ho 
took his Cambridge degree soon after returning from Holland. 
Life of Akenside, 173. — The date of his election by the Royal 
Society I owe to J. Hudson, Esq. For the following exti-acts 
from the annals of the College of Physicians, I have to thank 
Dr. Francis Hawkins, their Registrar : — 

*'1751, May 3d, Dr. Akenside was summoned to attend the Censors 

Boafd, at the Royal College of Physicians. 
June 6th, examined first time by that Board. 
June 20th, examined second time, when he produced a Diploma 

from the University of Leyden, dated May 16th, 1744. 
June 25th, admitted Licentiate of the College of Physicians. 

1752, The College of Physicians wrote to the Vice-Chancellor of the 
University of Cambridge to signify that the College had no 
objection to the degree of M. D. being conferred on Dr. Akenside 
by mandamus. 

1753, Feb. 2d, he was examined a first time as a candidate for the 
Fellowship of the College. 

Feb. 9th, examined a second time, when he produced a Diploma 

from Cambridge, dated Jan. 4th, 1753. 
March 8th, examined third time. 
April 16th, admitted a Candidate of the College. 

1754, April 8th, admitted Fellow. 

1755, Sept. 30th, chosen Fourth Censor of the College, with Drs. 
Ileberden, Coie, and William Pitcairn; Dr. Reeve being Pre- 
sident." 

« Letters to Dr. Birch, 4300, in the Brit. Mus. 



LIFE or AKENSIDE. 63 

"I sec this instant, in the Public Advertiser, 
that Dr. Warburton is made King's Chaphiin, and 
enters into waiting immediately. Can you tell rae 
whether this be true ? If there be any hazard of 
finding him at Kensington, I shall not chuse to go 
thither to-day. I am your affectionate humble 
servant, " M. Akenside." 

" Bloomsb. Square, 

" Saturday Morn. [Sept. 28, 1754]." 

His encomiastic " Ode to the Bishop of Winches- 
ter"^ bears date the same year. This prelate 
was the celebrated controversialist. Dr. Hoadley, 
whose political opinions accorded with the poet's. 

In June,^ 1755, Akenside read the Gulstonian 
Lectures before the College of Physicians ; a por- 
tion of which, on the origin and use of the lym- 
phatic vessels in animals, was again read at a 
meeting of the Royal Society, and printed in the 
Philosophical Transactions for 1757.^ Next year 

1 Printed in the sixth volume of Dodsley's Coll. of Poems, 
1758. 

2 See the two following notes. But Dr. Francis Hawkins, 
Registrar to the College, infoi-ms rae, that, according to the 
entries in their annals, Akenside read the Gulstonian Lectures 
on May 28, 29, and 30. 

8 Vol. L. Part I. p. 322 : — " Observations on the Origin and 
Use of the Lymphatic Vessels of Animals ; being an extract 
from the Gulstonian Lectures, read in the Theatre of the_ Col- 
lege of Physicians of London, in June, 1755 : " consisting of six 
pages. In consequence of a misprint in this essay, Akenside 
wrote the following letter to the author of " Clarissa," who, it 
may be necessary to inform some readers, was a printer : — 



64 LIFE OF AKENSIDB. 

lie published a short pamphlet,^ in reply to certain 
animadversions on this essay by Dr. Alexander 

To Mr. RiCHAEDSON, in Salisbury Court, Fleet-street. 

" Sir, — I return you many thanks for sending me the sheet 
about which 1 wrote to you. I find in it an erratum of that un- 
lucky sort, which does not make absohite nonsense, but only 
conveys a false and absurd idea. The sheet is mark'd T t; and 
m page 328, and line ninth from the bottom, stream is jjrhitcd 
instead of steam. If you can without much trouble either print 
this as an erratum, or rather let somebody with a stroke of a 
pen blot out the r, as the sheets are di-ied, I should be greatly 
oblig'd. I am, Sir, with true I'espect, your most humble servant, 

" M. Akexside." 

" Bloomsb. Square. Jan. 25." 
Letters to Br. Birch, cf-c, 4300, in the Brit. Mus. 

1 "Notes on the Postscript to a Pamphlet entitled 'Observa- 
tions Anatomical and Physiological, &c., by Alexander Monro, 
Junior, M. D. Professor of Anatomy, &.C., Edinburgh, August, 
MDCCLViii.'" 1758, 8vo, pp. 24, price 6d. — Our author wi'ites 
in the third person, and commences the tract with this clear 
statement of facts : " Dr. Akenside did, it seems, so long ago 
as June 1755, in certain annual lectures which he read in his 
turn at the College of Physicians, advance a new theory con- 
cerning these [lymphatic] vessels; a theory which he had at 
first drawn out for himself, and of which, before that time, no 
mention had been made to the public. He did not then print 
any part of what he had read ; thinking perhaps that his notion 
was already sufficiently made known by being stated at a pub- 
lic lecture before a numerous audience of physicians and other 
persons qualified to judge of what he advanc'd, and with an 
explicit account of the evidence on which he founded it. Some 
time afterwards, when a dispute about this very point had ari- 
sen between two other gentlemen, each of them for himself 
laying claim to the discovery. Dr. A. was prevailed upon to 
^ve in at a meeting of the Royal Society so much of his lec- 
tm'es as related to the subject in question. Accordingly this 
was read as a passage taken from those lectures, the same title 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 65 

Monro of Edinburgh, among which was an insinua- 
tion that Akenside's theory was derived from his 
treatise, " De Ghmdulis Lymphaticis." 

Here may be introduced another short note ^ to 
Dr. Birch : — 

"Dear Sir, — Have you got the letters con- 
cerning Hume's History ? I grudge to buy them. 
If you have them, and can spare them so long, I 
should be much oblig'd if you would let me have 
them a few hours. I am a sort of invalid, just 
enough to confine me. Your affectionate, humble 
servant, " M. Akenside." 

" Bloomsb. Square, 
" Wednesday Mom." [ March 3d, 1756]. 

On the 7th, 8th, and 9th of Septeniber,^ 1756, 
he read the Croonian Lectures before the College 
of Physicians. According to Kippis,^ their subject 
was the History of the Revival of Learning, to 
which some of the members objected as " foreign 
to the institution;" and Akenside, after three lec- 
tures, gave up the task in disgust. 

being then prefixed to it which it now bears in print, and seve- 
ral gentlemen being then present who had formerly heard the 
lectures themselves. The paper was published by the council 
of the society." ^lonro's treatise on the Lymphatics, from 
which he insinuated that Akenside borrowed his ideas, did not 
arrive in England till 1756. 

1 Letters to Dr. Birch, 4300, in the Brit. ^Mus. 

2 From the infoi-mation of Dr. Francis Hawkins, Registrar 
to the College of Physicians. 

8 Biog. Brit. [There is some doubt as to the correctness of 
the statement that Akenside gave up these Lectures in disgust.] 



66 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

The first book of his remodelled " Pleasures of 
Imagination " is dated 1757. The poem, says Mr. 
Dyson, appeared originally " at a very early part 
of the author's life. That it wanted revision and 
correction he was sufficiently sensible ; but so 
quick was the demand for several successive re- 
publications, that in any of the intervals to have 
completed the whole of his corrections was utterly 
impossible ; and yet to have gone on from time to 
time in making farther improvements in every new 
edition, would, he thought, have had the appear- 
ance at least of abusing the favour of the public : 
he chose, therefore, to continue for some time re- 
printing it without alteration, and to forbear pub- 
lishing any corrections or improvements until he 
should be able at once to give them to the public 
complete; and with this view he went on for 
several years to review and correct the poem at his 
leisure, till at length he found the task grow so 
much upon his hands, that, despairing of ever being 
able to execute it sufficiently to his own satisfac- 
tion, he abandoned the purpose of correcting, and 
resolved to write the poem over anew, upon a 
somewhat different and an enlarged plan." ^ 

In 1758 ^ he endeavoured to excite the martial 

1 Advertisement to Mr. Dyson's edition of Akenside's 
Poems, 1772. 

2 Quarto, price 6d. : see List of Books for March, 1758, in 

Gent. Mag. Its motto is, 

" rusticorum mascula militum 

Proles, Sabellis docta ligonibua 
Versare g]ebas." Hob. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 67 

spirit of the nation by an " Ode to the Country 
Gentlemen of England." "Mr. Elliott, fathei-of 
Lord Minto," says the late Mr. Justice Hardinge,* 
"made an admirable speech in support of the 
Scotch Militia, which I had the good fortune to 
hear when I was a boy ; and it was reported, that, 
when commended as he was on every side for that 
performance, * If I was above myself,' he answered, 
* I can account for it ; for I had been animated by 
the sublime Ode of Dr. Akenside.' " 

He, soon after,^ suffered a severe attack of 
sickness ; on the abatement of which, he removed, 
for change of air, to Goulder's Hill, the seat of 
Mr. Dyson ; and, during a short stay under that 
friendly roof, he composed his " Ode on Recover- 
ing," &c., which contains an elegant allusion to the 
recent marriage of his patron. 

Few miscellanies had been so favourably re- 
ceived by the public as Dodsley's Collection of 

Whitehead, the laureat, published at tlie same time " Verses to 
the People of England." On these two effusions Byrom 
wrote some rhjoning " Remarks," in which he says: — 

" Really these fighting poets want a tutor, 
To teach them ultra crepidam ne sutor ; 
To teach the doctor, and to teach the laureat, 
J^x Heliconc sangiunem ne hauriat: 
Though blood and wounds infect its limpid stream, 
It should run clear before they sing a theme." 

1 In a long letter concerning Akenside (the rest of which 
will be afterwards quoted). — Nkhols's 111 of Lit. JJist. viii. 524. 

2 " My harp, which late resounded o'er the land 

The voice of glory," &c. 

Ode on Recovering from a fit of Sickness in the Country, 1758, 
printed in Mr. Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772. 



68 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

Poems ; and, in consequence of its undiminished 
popularity, it was enlarged by two additional vo- 
lumes in 17o8.-^ To the sixth volume Akenside 
contributed a " Ilyran to the Naiads ; " " Ode to 
the Earl of Huntingdon ; " " Ode to the Bishop of 
Winchester ; " " Inscription for a Grotto ; " " For 
a Statue of Chaucer at Woodstock ; " one begin- 
ning " Whoe'er thou art," &c. ; " For a Statue of 
Shakespeare ;" " On William the Third ; " " For a 
Column at Runnymede ; " and an Ode, " If rightly 
tuneful bards decide," &c. None of these pieces, 
excepts the second in the list, had previously 
appeared. 

A publication of this year (1758), addressed to 

1 Dodsley's Collection appeared first, in three volumes, in 
1748 ; the fourth volume came out in 1755 ; the fifth and sixth 
volumes were published in 1758. 

Gray's remai'ks on the " Pleasures of Imagination" have 
been already cited (see page 21, note, of this Memoir). In 
March, 1758, he writes thus to Di\ Wharton: — "Then here 
is the Miscellany (Mr. Dodsley has sent me the whole set gilt 
and lettered, I thanlc him). Why, the two last volumes are 
worse than the four first: particularly Dr. Akenside is in a 
deplorable way. What signifies Learning and the Ancients 
(Mason will say triumphantly), why should people read Greek 
to lose their imagination, their ear, and their mother-tongue V " 
Memoirs of Gray by Mason, 261, ed. 1775. — Could such a 
scholar as Gray be insensible to the classic beauty of the 
"Hymn to the Naiads," and the "Inscriptions" of Akenside? 

lilr. Bucke, on the authority of Sir Grey Cooper, states that 
the Inscription, " Whoe'er thou art," &c., tells faithfully the 
melancholy fate of a young gentleman, named Weybridge, who 
came early into possession of a small property in the county 
of Northumberland. — Life qfAkemide, 83. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 69 

our author, must not pass unnoticed. . It is the 
"Call of Aristippus,"^ an Epistle in rhyme,- by 
the ingenious John Gilbert Cooper, who, designa- 
ting Akenside as the "Twofold Disciple of Apollo," 
assures him that in Elysium Plato and Virgil shall 
weave him a never-fading crown, while Lucretius, 
Pindar, and Horace shall willingly yield him pre- 
cedence. The panegyric is rendered worthless by 
its extravagance. 

In January, 1759, Akenside was appointed as- 
sistant Physician to St. Thomas's Hospital, and, 
two months after, principal Physician. In the 
same year he became assistant Physician to 
Christ's Hospital. Of his behaviour, in his offi- 
cial capacity, at the former institution, the follow- 
ing anecdotes are preserved. As they must tend 
to lower him in the estimation of the reader, I 
transcribe them with a feeling of reluctance ; but 
I should not have thought myself justified in sup- 
pressing them, as Mr. Bucke has done, even if 
they had been derived from a less respectable 
source than the " Memoirs of Dr. Lettsom." I am 
willing, however, to believe that practice at an 
hospital may frequently present occurrences to 
disturb the temper of the mildest physician. 

Lettsom, when a young man, says Mr. Petti- 

1 It was a sequel to three " Epistles to the Great, from 
Aristippus in Retirement," 4to. Cooper had previously men- 
tioned Akenside with absurdly exaggerated commendation in 
"Letters concerning Taste : " see ed. 1755, p. 101. 



70 LIFE (^K AKENSIUK. 

grew, " entered [at St. Thomas's Hospital] as a 
surgeon's dresser, under Benjamin Cowell, ICsq. 
Tlie other surgeons were ^Ir. Baker and Mr. 
Smith, men of no great eminence. The phy- 
sicians were Akenside, Russell, and Grieve. 
Lett.som was early fond of poetry, and had read 
the 'Pleasures of Imagination' with admiration. 
He anticipated great pleasure in coming under 
the author's notice; for, by a small premium, a 
surgeon's pupil is admitted to the practice of the 
Physicians of the Hospital. Great, however, was 
his disappointment in finding Dr. Akenside the 
most supercilious and unfeeling physician that he 
had hitherto known. If the poor affrighted pa- 
tients did not return a direct answer to his queries, 
he would often instantly discharge them from the 
Hospital. He evinced a particular disgust to fe- 
males, and generally treated them with harshness. 
It was stated that this moroseness was occasioned 
by disappointment in love ; but hapless must have 
been that female who should have been placed 
under his tyranny. Lettsom was inexpressibly 
shocked at an instance of Dr. Akenside's inhu- 
manity, exercised towards a patient in Abraham's 
Ward, to whom he had ordered bark in boluses ; 
who, in consequence of not being able to swallow 
them, so irritated Akenside, as to order the sister 
of the Ward to discharge him from the hospital ; 
adding, ' he shall not die under my care.' As the 
sister was removing him, in obedience to the Doc- 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 71 

tor, the patient expired. One leg of Dr. Akenside 
was considerably shorter than the other, which 
was in some measure remedied by the aid of a 
false lieel. He had a pale strumous countenance, 
but was always very neat and elegant in his dress. 
He wore a large white wig, and carried a long 
sword. Lettsom never knew him to spit, nor 
would he suffer any pupil to spit in his presence. 
One of them once accidentally did so, yet stand- 
ing at some distance behind him. The Doctor 
instantly spun round on his artificial heel, and has 
tily demanded, who was the person that spit in his 
face ? Sometimes he would order some of the 
patients, on his visiting days, to precede him with 
brooms to clear the way, and prevent the patients 
from too nearly approaching him. On one of these 
occasions, Richard Chester, one of the Governors, 
upbraided him for his cruel behaviour : ' Know,' 
said he, ' thou art a servant of this Charity.' On 
one occasion his anger was excited to a very high 
pitch, by the answer which Mr. Baker, the sur- 
geon, gave to a question the Doctor put to him, 
respecting one of his sons, who was subject to 
epilepsy, which had somewhat impaired his under- 
standing, — *To what study do you purpose to 
place him?' said Akenside to Baker. ' I find,' 
replied Baker, ' he is not capable of making a 
surgeon, so I have sent him to Edinburgh to 
make a physician of him.' Akenside turned 
round from Baker with impetuosity, and would 



72 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

not speak to him for a considerable time after- 
wards. Dr. Russell was as condescending as 
Akenside was petulant. Akenside, however, 
would sometimes condescend to explain a case 
of disease to the pupils, which always appeared 
sagacious ; and, notwithstanding his irritable tem- 
per, he was more followed than Russell by the 
pupils."^ 

In October, 1759, Akenside delivered the Har- 
veian Oration before the College of Physicians, 
by whose order it was next year given to the 
press.^ 

In June, 17G1, Mr. Thomas Hollis (as his bio- 
grapher informs us) "bought a bed which once 
belonged to John Milton, and on which he died. 
This bed he sent as a present to Dr. Akenside, 
with the following card : ' An English gentleman 
is desirous of having the honour to present a bed 
which once belonged to John Milton, and on 
which he died, to Dr. Akenside ; and if the Doc- 
tor's genius, believing himself obliged, and having 
slept in that bed, should prompt him to write an 
ode to the memory of John Milton and the as- 
sertors of British liberty, that gentleman would 

1 Pettigrew's Memoirs of Dr. Lettsom, i. 21. 

2 " Oratio Anniversaria, quam ex Harveii instituto in thea- 
tre CoUcgii Regalis Medicorum Londinensis Die Octobris xviii 
A. MDCCLIX habuit Marcus Akenside, M. D. Coll. Med. et 
Reg. Societ. Socius." 1760, 4to, pp. 24. — It is dedicated to Dr. 
Reeve, the President, and to the Fellows of the College of Phy- 
sicians. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 73 

think himself abundantly recompensed.' The 
Doctor seemed wonderfully delighted with this 
bod, and had it put up in his house. But more 
we do not know of the delight the Doctor took in 
his present ; nor the least memorandum of an ac- 
knowledgment to Mr. Ilollis, through Mr. Payne 
or otherwise, for it appearing. And as to the ode, 
the Doctor might learn from his friend Dyson, 
that an encomium of Milton, as an assertor of 
British liberty at that time of the day, was not 
the thing." ^ The sneering allusion in the latter 
part of this passage will be explained by the cir- 
cumstances Avhich I have now to relate, and 
which perhaps made the democrat Hollis think 
Akenside no longer fit to occupy the bed of Milton. 
Hitherto both Mr. Dyson and our poet had 
espoused the cause of liberty with such an ardour, 
as to induce suspicions, certainly unjust, that they 
were the advocates of republicanism. On the 
accession, however, of George the Third, the 
former suddenly became a Tory, and the supporter 
of Lord Bute ; and, though the general excel- 
lence of his character forbids us to believe for one 
moment that his conversion was purchased, it 
would be difficult to clear him from the charge of 
inconsistency. By Mr. Dyson's influence, Aken- 
side was appointed one of the Physicians to the 
Queen, on the settlement of her Majesty's house- 

1 Memoirs of Thomas Hollis, 111. 
K 



74 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

hold in 1761;^ and, from that period, his Whig 
acquaintances, in whose eyes the acceptance of 
such a situation was a dereliction of principle, re- 
garded his political apostacy as not less flagrant 
than that of his patron. The subject now in 
question being several times alluded to in the fol- 
lowing curious anecdotes, I have reserved them 
for this part of the memoir. They are from the 
pen of Mr. Justice Hardinge,^ whose father Mr. 
Dyson succeeded as Clerk to the House of Com- 
mons,^ and to whose uncle, the physician, our 
Poet has addressed an Ode.^ 

" Dr. Akenside was known to my father, as 
being Mr. Dyson's friend, long before he was 
known to me. As to Mr. Dyson's knowledge of 
Mr. Hardinge, it originated in their contract for 
the succession of Mr. Dyson to the post of Chief 
Clerk in the House of Commons, when Mr. Har- 

1 In the " List of the establishment made by his Majesty 
for the household of the futui-e Queen," printed in the St. 
James's Chronicle for September 5th, 1761, we find, — 

" Physicians, — Dr. Letherland, Dr. Akenside. 
Physician to the Household, — Dr. Pringle." 

2 George Hardinge, senior Justice of the Counties of Bre- 
con, Glamorgan, and Radnor, died at Presteigne, April 26th, 
1816, in his seventy-second year. The talents and acquire- 
ments of this eccentric man were of a superior order. See his 
"Essence of Malone," &c., — his contributions to Nichols's 
" Illust. of Lit. History," and " Literary Anecdotes," — and his 
" Miscellaneous Works in Prose and Verse," 3 vols, with Me- 
moirs of the Author. 

8 See page 50 of this Memoir. * See page 53, id. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 75 

dinge was preparing to resign it ; and the inter- 
course, ripening into mutual esteem, produced a 
cordial friendship, which lasted as long as Mr. 
Hardinge lived. 

" The first I can recollect of my own personal 
acquaintance with Dr. Akenside's name and muse 
was my father's recital to me, when I was a boy 
at Eton School, of the invocation to ancient 
Greece, in that celebrated poem which has been 
so depreciated by Dr. Johnson, that I fear no 
error of judgment and of taste, manifest in that 
criticism, can redeem the censure from heavier 
imputations. This inspired passage, as I think it 
still, was recommended additionally to me by the 
charm of recitation, in which not even Garrick 
himself could be superior to Mr. Nicholas Har- 
dinge, though he wanted either nerves or powers 
to make a figui'e in the House of Commons, and 
though he had no musical ear. But liis reading 
and repeating ear, if I may use that phrase, was 
exquisite ; and his accent, prompted by his judg- 
ment, uniformly just. It is very singular, but it 
is true, that Akenside was not a good reader of his 
own verse. 

" My father admired him as a gifted poet, as a 
man of genius, of learning, and of taste. They 
were upon friendly terms. I have heard Aken- 
side represent my father as a man of admirable 
taste and judgment, of perfect honour, and of the 
kindest affections that ever breathed in a human 



76 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

breast. As I grew up into man, Akenside hon- 
oured me with a most affectionate regard, which I 
forfeited, as you will have occasion to see, a little 
before his death, to my infinite regret ; but, I am 
sorry to add, with no remorse, for I was more 
* sinn'd against than sinning.^ 

" When I was at College, he sent me a letter of 
advice and of directions for the course of my aca- 
demical studies, which, in style and conception, 
was the most ingenious and masterly work that 
ever that arduous topic has produced. In general, 
to do liim justice, he wrote English prose with 
purity, with ease, and with spirit : in verse he was 
occasionally a little quaint, laboured, and inflated ; 
but I never discerned any such vice in his prose. 

" When I came from College to the Inns of 
Court, besides the opportunity of seeing him often 
at Mr. Dyson's house, and with* my uncle Dr. 
Hardinge, I was often his dinner-guest, and gene- 
rally with him alone. In addition to all his 
powers, arising from his genius and his eloquence, 
I had the enjoyment of his portfolio, enriched by 
capital prints from the most eminent painters of 
Italy and Holland, which he illustrated with admi- 
rable taste. 

" He had in general society a pomp and stiff- 
ness of manner, not of expression, in which last he 
was no less chaste than flowing and correct. But 
the misfortune of this manner was in some degree 
connected with his figure and appearance. He 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 77 

looked as if he never could be undressed ; and the 
Li eh in his gait, whatever gave rise to it (a sub- 
ject of obloquy too despicable to be answered, and 
which I am sorry to see that you have transcribed), 
compared with a solemn cast in his features, was, 
at the best, of a kind that was not companionable, 
and rather kept strangers at a distance from him. 
Though his features were good, manly, and expres- 
sive, a pale complexion of rather a sickly hue, and 
the laboured primness of a powdered wig in stiff 
curl, made his appearance altogether unpromising, 
if not grotesque. But, where he was intimate, was 
admired, and was pleased with his party, he con- 
versed most eloquently and gracefully. He had 
the misfortune, however, to have little or no taste 
for humour ; and he took a jest ^ very ill. Except 
in his political morality, which I could not admire. 
Dr. Akenside was a man of perfect honor, friendly, 
and liberal His religious opinions were, I beHeve, 
a little whimsical and peculiar ; but, in general, he 
kept them very much to himself. He and Mr. 
Dyson had both originally been Dissenters. He 
was irritable, had little restraint upon his temper 
among strangers, and was either peevish or too 
oracular and sententious. He wanted gaiety of 
heart in society, and had no wit in his muse or in 
his eloquence. I don't believe he had much depth 

1 " Dr. Akenside had no wit," says Mr. Justice Hardinge, 
in a subsequent communication to Mr. Nichols. — Lit. Anec. 
viii. 525. 



78 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

of medical science, or much acuteness of medical 
sagacity ; he certainly had no business or fame in 
that line. His great powers, besides the talent of 
poetry, were those of eloquent reasoning, historical 
knowledge, and philosophical taste, enlivened by 
the happiest and most brilliant allusions. He had 
an astonishing memory, and a most luminous ap- 
plication of it. I recollect that he read gratis all 
the modern books of any character, and that he 
had the right conferred upon him of opening the 
leaves. His comments were cherished; and, if 
the book struck him with a powerful impression, I 
believe it was generally given to him by the book- 
seller. • ■* 

" He lived incomparably well ; and, as I knew 
of no other source to his income but his constant 
friend Mr. Dyson's munificence to him, I rejoiced 
in it for the honour of them both. I never saw any 
thing like their friendship, and their union of sen- 
timents ; yet nothing was more dissimilar than 
were the two men. Mr. Dyson was quite a man 
of business, of order and figures, of parliamentary 
forms, and of political argument. His character 
(bating an amiable partiality in the eulogist) is 
well drawn by Mr. Hatsell. He had neither 
fancy nor eloquence ; and, though he had strong 
prejudices, he veiled them in obliging manners. 

" The misfortune of their politics (and I was the 
victim of it in some degree) was, that, upon the 
accession of this reign, they entirely and radically 



*• LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 79 

changed them ; for they became bigoted adherents 
to Lord Bute and the Tories, having at every ear- 
lier period been, as it were, the High Priests of 
the opposite creed. Mr. Dyson was preferred, and 
was ultimately pensioned. His friend, whom he 
always bore in mind, was made Physician to the 
Queen — Ex illo Jiuere ; from that period, both of 
them were converts, and zealots, of course, for the 
New Religion. My uncle. Dr. Hardinge, whose 
wit and penetrating judgment had no delicacy in 
their blow, often told them both, when they were 
young men (and with an oath which I must not 
repeat), *that, like a couple of idiots, they did 
not leave themselves a loop-hole, — they could not 
sidle away into the opposite creed.' 

" As my opinions were naturally upon the same 
line of politics which Lord Camden^ uniformly 
adopted and pursued, I offended my admired friend 
the Poet, by too open a disclosure of my political 
faith, insignificant, qualified, and perfectly unas- 
suming, as it was. It made a coolness between 
us ; but I believe that his original friendship to me 
was never essentially impaired. 

" My uncle, Dr. Hardinge, was a comic tyrant 
over all his friends. I shall never be able to for- 
get an evening of civil war, and another of peace, 
between these two physicians. Dr. Akenside was 
the guest ; and at supper, by a whimsical accident, 
they fell into a dispute upon the subject of a bilious 

1 Mr. Justice Hardinge was the nephew of this noblemen. 



80 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

colic. They were both of them absurdly eager 
Dr. Hardinge liad a contempt for every physician 
but himself; and he held the Poet very cheap in 
that line. He laughed at him, and said the rudest 
things to him. The other, who never took a jest 
in good part, flamed into invective ; and Mrs. 
Hardinge, as clever in a different way as either of 
them, could with difficulty keep the peace between 
them. Dr. Akenside ordered his chariot, and 
swore that he would never come into the house 
again. The other, who was the kindest-hearted 
of men, feeling that he had goaded his friend, 
called upon him the next morning, and, in a man- 
ner quite his own, made a perfect reconcilement, 
which terminated in a pacific supper the following 
night, when, by a powerful stroke of humour, the 
host convulsed the sides of his guest with laughter, 
and they were in delightful unison together the 
whole evening. * Do you kn — kn — know, Doc- 
tor,* said he (for he stammered), ' that I b — bought 
a curious pamphlet this m — orning upon a st — 
stall, and I'll give you the t — title of it : An Ace — 
count of a curious dispute between D — Dr. Y. and 
D — Dr. Z. concerning a b — b — bilious c — colic, 
which terminated in a d — duel between the two 
ph — physicians, which t — terminated in the d — 
death of both.'' ^ 

1 Here I have omitted some critical remarks by Mr. Har- 
dinge on Akenside's poetry, and the anecdote of Mr. Elliott 
already quoted, see p. 67 of this Memoir. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 81 

" As far as I can recollect, his friends, besides 
Mr. Dyson, were chiefly Dr. Heberden, Dr. Har- 
dinge, Mr. Cracherode, Mr. Thomas Townshcnd, 
the first Lord Sydney's father, Mr. Tyrwhitt, the 
Archbishop of York, and Mr. Wray. He was a 
most unprejudiced and candid estimator of con- 
temporary poets, for which I admired him the 
more on account of its amiable singularity, 

" But I must not forget here to mention perhaps 
the most curious feature of his life. It is in the 
partial but very awkward change which his new 
politics at court made in those of the Poet. You 
will find a memorable proof to this point. In the 
first edition of the work, these lines appear : — 

' Wilt thou, kind Harmony, descend, 
And join the festive train ; for with thee comes 
Majestic Truth; and, where Truth deigns to come, 
Her Sister Liberty will not be far.' 

And in the second edition : — 

' For with thee comes 
Wise Order; and, where Order deigns to como, 
Her Sister Liberty Avill not be far.' " i 

After all, neither in the alterations just pointed 
out, nor in others made by the author in his Odes,^ 
is there any thing indicative of violent Tory zeal ; 



1 Nichols's Lit.'Anec. viii. 521, 525. 

2 " In the Ode " On Leaving Holland," the three following 
lines, — 

' I go where freedom in the streets is known, 
And tt-lls ii nionarcli on his throne, 
Tells him he reigns, he lives, but by her voice.^ 

are. thus changed in the last edition: — 



82 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

and it should be remembered, that Mr. Hardinge, 
who asserts in the above Anecdotes that Akenside 
became as bigoted a partisan of the Tories as he 
had been of the Whigs, has elsewhere declared, 
that " his politics were illegible.'' ^ 

We have been told in the preceding page, that 
Akenside "was a most unprejudiced and candid 
estimator of contemporary poets ; " and the remark 
will be illustrated by the scattered notices which I 
shall now throw together. 

In the course of a conversation on Pope's " Es- 
say on Man," he assented to the opinion of Joseph 
Warton, that " the fourth Epistle on Happiness is 
adscititious, and out of its proper place, and ought 
to have made part of the second Epistle, where 
Man is considered with respect to himself." ^ 

' I go where liberty to all is known, 
And tel],s a monarch on his throne, 
He reigns not but by her preserving voice.' 

In the Ode * To the Earl of Huntmgdon,' the four subsequent 
lines, which originally were — 

' But here, where freedom's equal throne 
To all her valiant sons is known ; 
Where all direct the sword she wears, 
And each the power which rules him shares,' 

are corrected as follows, in the third line : — 

* Where all are conscious of her cares.^ 

Whatever may be thought of these particular alterations, it is 

certain that a most ardent spirit of liberty breathes through 

Dr. Akenside's works." — Biog. Brit.: note by Kippis. 

1 " His [H. Walpole'sJ politics were as illegible, if I may use 
that phrase, as those of Dr. Akenside." — Nicholses III. of Lit. 
Eist. viii. 526. 

2 Warton's edition of Pope's Works, iii. 123. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 83 

He was a great admirer of Gothic architecture, 
and would frequently sit by moonlight on the 
benches in St. James's Park, to gaze on West- 
minster Abbey; "and I remember," adds Mr. 
Meyrick, " he once told me that he seldom thought 
of the passage in his own poem, 

' The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,' &c. 

but he thought of a still finer one in Pope's 
Homer : — 

* As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,' " &cA 

It has been rashly supposed, that, in the follow- 
ing passage of the "Pleasures of Imagination," 
he alludes to Pope : — 

" Thee, too, facetious Momion, wandering here;^ 
Thee, dreaded censor ! qfi have I beheld 
Bewilder'd unawares," &c. &c. — B. iii. 179. 

But there is every reason to believe that Akenside 
never saw Pope, who died a few months after the 
appearance of the poem, for which he had advised 
Dodsley to make a handsome offer.^ 

With Thomson's " Castle of Indolence " he was 
enraptured : among many stanzas, to which, in his 
own copy, he had put an emphatic mark of appro- 
bation, was that beginning — 

" I care not, fortune, what you me deny," Sec* 

1 Bucke's Life of Akenside, 212. 

2 [By Momion is probably intended Richard Dawes, Mas- 
ter of the Newcastle Grammar School, and author of Mis- 
cellanea Critica. See note on p. 109.] 

8 See p. 20 of this Memoir. * Bucke's Life of Akenside, 31. 



84 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

He repeatedly mentioned Fenton's " Ode to 
Lord Gower," as " the best in our language, next 
to Alexander's Feast ; " ^ and, at his desire, Wei- 
sted's Ode, "The Genius, written in 1717, on 
occasion of the Duke of Marlborough's Apoplexy," 
was inserted in the fourth volume of Dodsley's 
Collection of Poems.^ 

That he was on terms of intimacy with the 
author of " The Fleece," and lent him some assist- 
ance in the composition of tjaat poem, appears from 
a letter of Dyer to Duncombe, November 24th, 
1756 : — " Your humble servant is become a 
deaf and dull and languid creature ; who, however, 
in his poor change of constitution, being a little 
recompensed with the critic's phlegm, has made 
shift, by many blottings and. corrections, and some 
helps from his kind friend Dr. Akenside, to give 
a sort of finishing to the ' Fleece,' which is just 
sent up to Mr. Dodsley."^ Johnson informs us 
that Akenside declared " he would regulate his 
opinion of the reigning taste by the rule of Dyer's 
Fleece ; for, if that were ill-received, he should not 
think it any longer reasonable to expect fame from 

1 Warton's edition of Pope's Works, ii. 401. 

2 /(/, V. 198. — With Welsted, who died in 1747, Akenside is 
said to liave been acquainted. His Works, pubUshed by Nichols 
in 1787, contain several pieces which show that his talents at 
least did not deserve the contempt of Pope. 

8 Letters by several Eminent Persons, including the Corre- 
spondence of Hughes," iii. 58. Yet ^Ir. Bucke says it does not 
appear that Akenside was intimate with Dyer 1 — Life, of Akm- 
tide, 90. 



LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 85 

excellence."^ The works of Djcr, though ne- 
glected by the multitude, will be always esteemed 
by the reader of taste and feeling, for the true 
poetic fancy and the love of natural objects which 
they everywhere display. 

A passage in the " Pleasures of Imagination," 

" To muse at last amid the ghostly gloom 
Of graves and hoary vaults," &c. — B. i. 396. 

and a stanza in a " Preface " to the Odes, 

" Nor where the boding raven chaunts," &c. 

are said to have been aimed at Young, though I 
cannot perceive in them such " a palpable stroke " 
as Mrs. Barbauld^ has discovered. It has not, 
however, been noticed, that, in the first edition of 
the " Hymn to Cheerfulness," Akenside mentions 
the author of the " Night Thoughts " by name : — 

" Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue 
Instruct the nightly strains of Young ; " 

a couplet which he afterwards altered thus : — 

" Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue 
Repeat what later bards have sung.^* 

The Ode "On Lyric Poetry" closes with a 
stanza remarkable for its allusion to an epic poem 
which the author meditated, as well as to a cele- 
brated work of the same kind by a contemporary 
writer : — 

1 Life of Dyer. 

2 Essay on the Pleasures of Imagination. 



8(5 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

" But when from envy and from death to claim 
A hero bleeding for his native land, 
When to throw incense on the vestal flame 
Of Liberty my genius gives command, 
Nor Theban voice nor Lesbian \yrQ 
From thee, Muse, do I requke, 
While my presaging mind, 
Conscious of powers she never knew, 
Astonish' d grasps at things beyond her view, 
Nor by another's fate submits to be confin'd." 

Akenside had selected Timoleon ^ for the hero of 
his poem, in which, it appears, he had even made 
some progress. The last line of the stanza (as he 
told Warton) is pointed at the " Leonidas " of 
Glover.2 

From this digression I return to the regular 
annals of the Poet's life. Among Birch's MSS.* 
is the following note, which shews that he accom- 

1 Warton's edition of Pope's Works, ii. 73. A writer who 
signs himself Indagator, in the Gent. Mag. for October, 1793, 
(Ixiii. 885), says, " I have proof, though it has never been men- 
tioned to the world, that he had made some progress in an Epic 
Poem, the plan of which I know not ; the title of it was " Ti- 
moleon." An Epic Poem on the same subject was once de- 
signed by Pope, and was also proposed by Lord Melcombe to 
Thomson. 

2 Warton's edition of Pope's Works, ii. 73. I may add 
here, that Akenside agreed with Warton, Lowth, and Harris, 
in thinking that no critical treatise was better calculated to 
form the taste of young men of genius than Spence's " Essay 
on Pope's Odyssey, Id. Life," xxxvi., and that he considered 
" The Memoirs of Lord Bolingbroke " as a worthless produc- 
tion. — Letter from Birch to Wray, in Nichols's III. of lAt. Hist. 
iv. 534. 

8 Letters to Birch, 4300, in the Brit. Mus. 



LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 87 

panied the deputation sent by the University of 
Cambridge to congratulate the king and queen on 
their nuptials : — 

" Dr. Akenside presents his compliments to Dr. 
Birch, and begs the favour that he would lend him 
a band, in order that he may attend the Cambridge 
address to-morrow. 

" Craven-street, Sept. 13 " [1761]. 

About two years before this date, Akenside had 
quitted his house in Bloomsbury Square for one 
in Craven-street ; and, after having stayed in the 
latter about twelve months, he removed to Bur- 
lington-street, where he continued to reside till his 
decease.^ 

The MSS. of Birch ^ furnish one more note from 
our author's pen : — 

" Dr. AkensideJjpresents his compliments to Dr. 
Birch, and returns many thanks for his kind pre- 
sent. He has left an unpublish'd letter of Ld. 
Bacon, which he thinks a valuable one, and which 
he had leave from Mr. Tyrwhitt to communicate 
to Dr. Birch ; and desires, that, when he has done 
with it, he would be so good as to send it to Bur- 
lington-street. 

"Nov. 29, 1762." 

1 According to the " Sheet Catalogues of the Fellows, &c. 
of the College of Physicians " (in the Brit. Mus.), his residence, 
from 1759 to 1761 inclusive, was in Craven-street; from 1762 
till his decease, in Burlington-street. 

2 Letters to Birch, 4300, in the Brit. Mus. 



88 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

To the very learned Tjrwliitt (who has been 
previously mentioned among the friends of Aken- 
side) Mr. Dyson resigned, during this year, thp 
clerkship of the House of Commons.^ 

In December, 1763, Akcnside read before the 
Royal Society, a paper, which was afterwards pub- 
lished in the Philosophical Transactions for the 
same year, — "An account of a Blow upon the 
Heart, and of its effects." ^ 

His " De Dysenteria Commentarius " ^ appeared 
in 1764; a production still esteemed by the medi- 
cal student for the valuable information it imparts, 

1 " This gentleman [Tyrwhitt] is well known as the editor 
of Chaucer, and [ for] a part he took in the controversy in 
regard to Rowley's Poems: " so says Mr. Bucke (Life of Aken- 
side, 176), who seems not to know that Tyrwhitt has done more 
for Greek than English literature. Since the time of Bentley 
to the present day, what classical scholiU| in this country, with 
the exception of Porson, has displayed such acuteness and 
felicity of emendation as Tyrwhitt V But his edition of the 
" Canterbury Tales " exhibits a text which by no means satis- 
fies the antiquarian reader. 

2 Phil. Trans. liii..353: it consists of two pages and a half. 
8 De Dysenteria Commentarius, auctore Marco Akenside, 

Coll. Med. Londin. Socio. Reg. Societ. Sodali, et Magnas Bri- 

tannise Reginffi Medico, 1764, octavo. It consists of eighty-one 

pages, and is divided thus : — 

Cap. I. De dysenteria historia. 

II. De dyf-entericorum curatione. 

III. De causis dysenteriae. 

IV. De actione ipecacoanhae in dysentericos. 

There are two English translations of this work, by Ryan 
and Motteux. That of the foi-mer is extremely inaccurate (see 
Monthly Review, xxxv. 373); that of the latter is not free from 
faults. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 89 

and admired by the scholar for its choice and ele- 
gant Latinity. 

When Wa'rburton, now dignified Avith the mitre, 
put forth a new edition of the first and second 
volumes ^ of the " Divine Legation of Moses," in 
1766, he reprinted, as a " Postscript to the Dedi- 
cation to the Free-thinkers," his severe strictures 
on our poet's theory concerning Ridicule, &c., 
without condescending to notice the arguments 
which had been adduced in its defence. Irritated 
by what he regarded as a renewal of hostilities, 
Akenside displayed less magnanimity than might 
have been expected in such an admirer of the 
ancient sages, and had recourse to an ingenious 
method of mortifying his antagonist. He published 

1 These volumes are advertised, as published in the London 
Chronicle, April 3, 1766 ; which it is necessary to mention, 
because a writer in the Slonthly Review seems to have thought 
that they appeared subsequently to Akenside's " Ode to Ed- 
wards: " — " The discerning reader will be at no loss to accoimt 
for this attack upon Dr. Akenside, when he recollects a late 
short publication of the Doctor's," xxxv. 227. Mr. Bucke talks 
of " the obnoxious postscript he had before appended to his 
Preface" (Life of Akenside, 150), not knowing that Warbur- 
ton's attack on Akenside was originally made in the Px-eface to 
" Remarks on Several Occasional Reflections," &c. (see p. 23 
of this Memoir). — The Preface, when altered inte a Post- 
script, opened thus: "A Poet and a Critic [Lord Kaimes], of 
equal eminence, have concurred, though they did not start 
together, to censure what was occasionally said in this Dedica- 
tion (as if it had been addressed to them) of the use and abuse 
of Ridicule. The Poet was a follower of Lord Shaftesbury's 
fancies; the Critic, a follower of his own: both men of Taste, 
and equally anxious for the well-doing of Ridicule." 
G 



90 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

a lyrical satire, which he had composed long before 
this period, on the appearance of the Bishop's 
edition of Pope's Works, and which probably, but 
for this fresh provocation, would have never seen 
the light, — " An Ode to the late Thomas Ed- 
wards, Esq., written in the year 1751;"^ and a 
note on the fifth stanza surprised the reader by 
the following piece of information : " During Mr. 
Pope's war with Theobald, Concanen, and the rest 
of their tribe, Mr. Warburton, the present Lord 
Bishop of Gloucester, did with great zeal culti- 
vate their friendship, having been introduced, for- 

1 In folio, price 6d., published May, 1766: see the St. 
James's Chronicle for the first of that month, into which it is 
copied, with the following paragraph prefixed to it: "While 
Peace has spread her wing over the greatest Nations of Europe, 
"War has sounded his trump in the regions of Parnassus. We 
have lately been witnesses to a fierce Conflict betAveen a Right 
Kev. Prelate, and a Learned and Reverend Professor ; each of 
whom have disputed about Job, without one Di-achm or Scru- 
ple of his Patience between them. At present, another son of 
Apollo, in his two-fold Capacity of God of Poetry and Physic, 
enters the lists, and tilts, we know not Avhy, with the Episcopal 
Militant. In a word, to drop all Metaphor, we are at a Loss to 
account why the following Ode, -wi'itten so long ago, is made 
Public at this particular Period. We doubt not, however, 
but its appearance here will be agi-eeable to our Readers." 
See also two " Letters to the Printer of the Public Advertiser" 
(in the Ap. to Memoirs of T. Hollis, 722). In the first of 
them, dated May 6, 1766, the -writer, accounting for the pubU- 
cation of the Ode, says: "The secret, I suppose, is no more 
than this: the bishop has, just now, given a new edition of the 
fii'st volume of his Divine Legation, and has thought fit to 
reprint the Censure he had before made on a certain note of 
this poet," &c. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 91 

Booth, at the meetings of that respectable confede- 
racy ; a favour \vhich he afterwards spoke of in 
very high terms of complacency and thankfulness. 
At the same time, in his intercourse with them, he 
treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous manner, 
and as a writer without genius. Of the truth of 
these assertions, his Lordship can have no doubt, 
if he recollects his own correspondence with Con- 
canen, a part of which is still in being, and will 
probably be remembered as long as any of this 
prelate's writings." A letter from Warburton to 
Concanen,^ dated January 2d, 1726, had fallen 
into the hands of Akenside, who knew that, iu 
announcing the existence of such a document, he 
should cause no slight vexation to his adversary. 
Though never published ^ by our poet, it has been 
printed in a note on Shakespeare's "Julius Cae- 
sar,'"* from a copy which he communicated to 
George Steevens, and which was thus endorsed: 
" The foregoing Letter was found about the year 
1750 by Dr. Gawin Knight, first librarian to the 
British Museum, in fitting up a house which he 
had taken in Crane Court, Fleet-street. The 
house had, for a long time before, been let in 
lodgings, and, in all probability, Concanen had 

1 Matthew Concanen, celebrated in " The Dunciad," ii. 299, 
•where vide note. 

2 Misled perhaps by Warton (note on Pope's Works, v. 164), 
Mr. Bucke supposes that Akenside ixublished the Letter, toge- 
ther with the Ode. — Life of Akenside, 157. 

8 By Malone. — " Supplement to Shakespeare," i. 223. 



92 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

lodged there. The original letter has been many 
years in my possession, and is here most exactly 
copied, with its several little peculiarities in gram- 
mar, spelling, and punctuation. April 30, 17G6, 
M. A." In this curious Epistle (too long for 
insertion here), the object of Warburton is to point 
out passages from various writers, which Addison 
had imitated in his " Cato ; " and having occasion 
to quote some lines from "Julius Caesar,"^ he 
illustrates them by an absurd comment, which he 
afterwards introduced, with little variation, into 
his edition of Shakespeare. It decidedly proves 
his intimacy with Theobald -^ and Concanen, but 
contains no mention of Pope, except an observa- 
tion that he " borrows for want of genius." 

The Ode in question was with propriety ad- 
dressed to Thomas Edwards, whose well-known 
" Canons of Criticism " had destroyed the reputa- 
tion of Warburton in one department of literature. 
This amiable and accomplished man, who died in 
1757, had long been, intimately acquainted with 
Akenside, and was, I believe, the " Phaedria " who 
had called forth our author's Odes, — " To a Friend 
unsuccessful in Love," ^ and " Affected Indiffer- 
ence."* Nor should it be forgotten, that, by his 

1 " Between the acting of a dreadful thing," &c. 

2 See also Letters between Warburton and Theobald, of a 
later date, in which they call each other " dearest friend." — 
NulioU's Jllust. of Lit. Ilist. ii. 630, 649. 

8 See p. 46 of this Memoir. 

* Printed in*Mr. Dyson's edition of his Poems, 1772. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 93 

" Sonnets," ^ some of them possessing no ordinary 
beaut}'-, Edwards revived among his countrymen a 
taste for that species of composition, which had 
been neglected since the days of MiUon. 

In 1765, Akenside had finished the second book 
of the remodelled " Pleasures of Imagination ; " 
and, in September of the following year, Mr. 
Daniel Wray writes thus to one of his correspond- 
ents : ^ " I was at Mount Ararat sooner than usual, 
to attend Lord and Lady Dacre, accompanied by 
Akenside, who passed the evening there, and com- 
municated the second and part of a third book 
in his great work. In the former, and in the same 
philosophical way, he is eloquent on the topics of 
truth and virtue, vice and the passions. In the 
latter, Solon is introduced giving a Fable on 
the Origin of Evil. It is introduced by an Epi- 
sode from Herodotus of Argarista's marriage, the 
daughter of Clisthenes, which is delightfully poeti- 
cal." Mr. Wray, a friend both of Akenside and 
Edwards, was a contributor to the well-known 
work, " The Athenian Letters." He was Fellow 
of the Royal Society and of the Society of Anti- 

1 See forty-five Sonnets appended to " The Canons of Cii- 
ticism," edit. 1765, several of which had previously appeared 
m Dodsley's Coll. of Poems, &c. : the five best will be found in 
my " Specimens of English Sonnets," 1833. 

2 Nichols's lUust. of Lit. Hist. i. 104. — :Mount Ararat 
(which Ml-. Bucke calls *' the seat of Lord and Lady Dacre," 
— Life of Akenside, 195) was the name of Mr. Wray's house 
at Richmond. 



94 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

quaries; deputy Teller of the Exchequer; and 
one of the Trustees of the British Musuem, on its 
first establishment. 

From the annals of the College of Physicians, 
we learn, that, in 1766," Dr. Akenside was thanked 
by the College for his trouble in preparing Har- 
vey's Works for the press, and for prefixing a 
Preface, which was printed with them, together 
with the Life of Harvey, by Dr. Lawrence." ^ 

On the 6th of June, 1767, he read before the 
College two papers, — " Observations on Can- 
cers," and " Of the Use of Ipecacoanha in Asth- 
mas ; " and, on the 6th of July, a third, — "A 
Method of treating White Swellings of the Joints." 
These essays were published, next year, in the 
first volume of the Medical Transactions.^ 

In 1767 appeared a small volume, entitled 
" Lexiphanes, a Dialogue, imitated from Lucian, 
and suited to the present times," — a piece of ill- 
natured drollery, which, though levelled chiefly at 
the prose of Johnson, contains also an attack on 
the poetry of Akenside. It was written by an 
obscure Scotchman, Archibald Campbell,^ who 

1 On the information of Dr. Francis Hawkins, Registrar to 
the College of Physicians. 

2 See the first vol. of the ^ledical Transactions, third edition, 
1785. The first of Akenside's essays consists of twent3'--nine 
pages, the second of ten and a half, the third of eight. 

8 He was a purser in the navy, and, " as well for the ma- 
lignancy of his heart as his terrific countenance, was called 
horrible CampbeD." — EawJdns's Life of Johnson^ 347, edit. 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 95 

hoped that its publication would involve him in a 
controversy with " the two Lexiphaneses," from 
which he would acquire at least notoriety ; but he 
was disappointed, for neither Johnson nor Aken- 
side deigned to reply. 

The following jeu d'esprit ^ is from the pen of 
Mr. Daniel Wray, whose intimacy with Akenside 
has just been noticed : — 

"The Arbitrator was out of town, when the 
applications from Ld. Dacre and Dr. Akenside 
were left at his house ; and, when he found them, 
he was fully employed in dispatching some busi- 
ness, in order to return to Richmond. Ld. Dacre 
asked for the Decision only at the leisure of the 
Court ; and it has been thought proper and deco- 
rous to take some time for judgment. 

" Ld. D. has offered no arguments, nor even 
stated the point in dispute. Dr. A. has fairly 
stated it to be whether Buchanan praised Q. Mary 
as a woman of virtue. 

" In the second passage of the Pompce, virtus 
has nothing that confines it to moral virtue, but it 

1787. In a note on " Lexiphanes," Campbell declares that 
Akenside's " words, and especially his phrases, are generally 
feO execrable, and his meaning, Avhere any can be picked out, 
always so trifling; in short, he has imbibed so much of Plato's 
nonsense," &c. &c. p. 76: second edition, 1767. Campbell 
published another little vohime, — " A Sale of Authors." 

1 Now first publi^he.l, from the original in the possession of 
J. Dyson, Esq. 



96 LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 

may include it; and there occurs a line in the 
Epithalamium, 

Et genus et virtus et Jbrma, 

where that idea may also be included in virtus. 
This verse is not indeed in Ld. D.'s plea, and so 
perhaps not strictly admissible. 

" Upon the whole, the classical virtus is not 
generally virtue in English ; but Buchanan, how- 
ever classical he was, might be willing to leave his 
idea in these compliments dim and confused ; or 
perhaps might put these brave words together 
without much consideration or precision, not ex- 
pecting they would be so nicely canvassed two 
centuries after. 

" From such imperfect documents, therefore, 
the court will not determine so important a cause, 
so warmly agitated, and of such expectation ; but 
hereby declares the wager to be drawn ; each party 
to sit down with the trouble they have had in 
debating and searching for materials and prece- 
dents; and that the respective characters of the 
Queen and the writer remain in statu quo, unaf- 
fected by any arguments drawn from these verses, 
being matters of another jurisdiction. 

" D. W. Arbitrator. 
" M. Ararat, 26 May, 1770. 

" Dr. A. will transmit the above sentence to 

Ld. D. 

" To Dr. Akenside, 
In Burlington-street, London," 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 97 

The unfinished third book of the remodelled 
" Pleasures of Imagination," and the fragment of 
the fourth book, bear the date of this year ; and 
Akenside was looking forward to the period when 
the publication of the work was to increase his 
already established fame as a poet. His practice 
as a physician^ was now considerable, and pro- 
mised to be more extensive. But a putrid fever, 
with which he was suddenly seized, put an end to 
his existence, after a short illness,, on the 23d 
June, 1770, in the forty-ninth year of his age. 
He died at his residence in Burlington-street,^ and 
was buried ^ in St. James's Church. 

Some " Observations on the Putrid Erysipelas, 
made at St. Thomas's Hospital," which he had 
read ^ before the College of Physicians, and in- 
tended for the second volume of the Medical 
Transactions, were among his papers at the time 
of his decease, but were never printed. 

Mr. Dyson, who had become possessor of the 
books, prints, MSS., and other effects of Akenside, 
gave to the world an edition of his Poems in 

1 See what has been said on this«ubject, pp. 53, 54, 58. 

2 Mr. Bucke erroneously states that he died in Bloomsbnry 
Square (Life of Akenside, 216): but see p. 87 of this Memoir; 
also the General Evening Post, from Saturday, June 23d, to 
Tuesday, June 26th, 1770, the Middlesex Journal, &c. 

8 On the 28th June. 

4 About the same period that he read the Croonian Lec- 
tures, says Mr. Bucke, without any authority. Life, of Akair 
side, 197. — See page 65 of this Memoir. 



98 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

1772.^ The contents of this elegant volume are — 
1. " The Pleasures of Imagination," as originally 
published. 2. As much of that Poem, on an 
enlarged plan, as the author had prepared for the 
press. "What reason there may be," says the 
Advertisement, " to regret that he did not live to 
execute the whole of it, will best appear from the 
perusal of the plan itself, as stated in the General 
Argument, and of the Parts which he had exe- 
cuted, and which are here published. For the 
Person to whom he entrusted the Disposal of his 
Papers would have thought himself wanting, as 
well to the service of the Public as to the Fame 
of his Friend, if he had not produced as much of 
the work as appeared to have been prepared for 
publication. In this light he considered the intire 
first and second Books, of which a few Copies had 
been printed for the use only of the Author and 
certain Friends ; also a very considerable part of 
the third Book, which had been transcribed in 
order to its being printed in the same manner: 
and to these is added the Introduction to a 
subsequent Book, which in the Manuscript is called 
the Fourth, and which appears to have been com- 
posed at the time when the Author intended to 
comprize the whole in Four Books ; but which, as 
he had afterwards determined to distribute the 
Poem into more Books, might perhaps more pro- 

1 Both in 4to and 8vo. 



LIFK OF i.KENSIDE. 99 

perly be called the Last Book." ^ 3. " Odes" 2__ 
of which ninoteen are for the first time printed: 
the rest (most of them now greatly altered) had 
been previously published. 4. The " Hymn to the 

1 Tlie late ^Ir. Pinkerton, in a volume entitled " Letters of 
Literature, by Robert Heron," 1785, printed, for the first time, 
some alterations made by Akenside in the Pleasures of Ima- 
gination. " They were inserted," he tells us, "in the margin 
of the Doctor's copy, which afterwards passed into the hands 
of a gentleman, from a friend of whom, and of my own, a very 
ingenious young Templar, I received them. At what time 
thej' were written I cannot pretend to say, much less to reveal 
the author's reasons for not giving an edition according to 
them. Most of them are evidently much for the better; one or 
two, I am afraid, for the worse. You will observe that a few 
of them have been adopted by the author in his proposed altera- 
tion of the Poem; as appears from the two books, and part of 
the third, of that alteration, published by Mr. Dyson in his 
edition of Akenside's Poems, 1772, 4to; but far the greater part 
is unpublished, and that the most valuable, as being evidently 
■\vritten ere the author had taken up the strange idea, that 
poetry was only perfect oratoiy. So that I will venture to 
say, that an edition of the ' Pleasures of Imagination,' adopting 
most of these con-ections, would be the most perfect ever yet 
known." — Ze«er iv. p.- 21. Pinkerton's taste was not "the 
most perfect ever known;" neither, I think, is that of Mr. 
Bucke, who seems to have meditated an edition of the kind, 
and who (according to his custom of giving garbled extracts) 
quotes the above passage from Pinkerton, omitting the ob- 
servation that " one or two of the corrections are for the 
worse." — Life of Akenside, 286. 

The " Pleasures of Imagination" has been translated into 
French prose by Baron d'Holbach, 1759, and into Italian verse 
by Abbate Angelo Mazza, 1764. 

2 Those not already mentioned in this Memoir are " On the 
Use of Poetry," " To the Cuckoo," " On the Love of Praise," 
" At Study," " The Complaint," and " On Domestic Manners." 



100 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

Naiads," corrected, with the addition of some notes. 
5. " Inscriptions ; " of which the three last ^ had not 
before appeared. The " Epistle to Curio," in its 
original state, and several smaller pieces,^ which 
the author had produced during his early years, 
are not reprinted in the volume just described. 
The only biographical notice of Akenside, which 
accompanies it, is comprised in a paragraph of the 
Advertisement. " The frigidity of this account," 
observed the Monthly Reviewer, " must be dis- 
gustful to every reader, who is endued with the 
least portion of sensibility ; " * a censure which has 
been frequently repeated. But there can be no 
doubt that modesty alone prevented Mr. Dyson 
from undertaking the office of Akenside's biogra- 
pher ; for how could he have discharged it faith- 
fully, without being, in some degree, the herald of 
his own munificence ? He was exemplary in all 
the relations of private life ; he rose to consider- 
able political eminence ; and, as the friend and 
patron of the poet, he has left a name which 



1 Namely, The Wood Nymph, " Ye powers tmseen," &c., 
and " Me, though in life's sequester'd vale," &c. — Two Latin 
Inscriptions of the Poet's " copying," which were in the pos- 
Bession of Mr. Meyrick, are printed by Mr. Bucke (Life of 
Akenside, 81), who calls them "very beautiful." They are 
defective in sense, grammar, and metre ! 

2 Already enumerated in this Memoir, with the exception 
of the Song, which closes the present volume, and which is 
attributed to Akenside by Ritson, — English Sangs, i. 207. 

» Monthly Review for Dec. 1772, — xlvii. 436. 



LIFB OF AKENSIDE. 101 

can never cease to be remembered with re- 
spect.^ 

Akenside had a pale and rather sickly com- 
plexion, but manly and expressive features. The 
formalty of his deportment, the precise elegance 
of his dress, his ample wig in stiff curl, his long 
sword, his hobbling gait^ and his artificial heel, 
rendered his appearance far from prepossessing, 
and somewhat akin to the ludicrous. 

His irritability of temper at times betrayed 
him into conduct, from which a very unfavourable 
and unjust idea of his character was conceived by 
strangers.^ An early disappointment in love is 
said to have occasioned this infirmity. In a pas- 
sage of " The Pleasures of Imagination," where 
he touches on the fate of Parthenia,^ he has been 
supposed to allude to a young lady, who died 
when about to become his wife ; and in several 
Odes * he mentions, as the object of his passion, 
Olympia, whom, it appears, he also lost by death. 
" But he celebrates other ladies, and speaks of 
them even with affection ; Amoret ^ and Melissa." * 

1 Mr. Dyson died Sept. 16, 1776. " He was at that time 
M. P. for Horsham, a member of the Privy Council, and Cof- 
ferer to His Majesty's Household." — Mc/iy/s's III. of Lit. Eist. 
viii. 555. 

2 See the anecdotes at p. 69 of this Memoir. 
8 B. ii. 193 (Original Poem). 

* To the Muse, On Love, To Sir Francis Drake, On Lyric 
Poetry, and To the Evening Star. 
6 Ode (without a title) X. B. ii. 
8 Pleas, of Imag. (Sec. Poem) i. 367. 



102 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

Such is the remark of Mr. Bucke, ^ who might 
have added the names, of Lucinda,^ Eudora,® 
Dione,* and Cordelia,'* and so made up a list of 
mistresses only exceeded by "The Chronicle" of 
Cowley ! Though we cannot read in Akenside's 
poetry the true history of his loves, we learn from 
it that there were moments when he felt the 
dreary solitude of celibacy, and sighed for domestic 
comforts : — 

" Though the day have smoothly gone, 
Or to letter' d leisure known, 
Or in social duty spent, 
Yet at eve ray lonely breast 
Seeks in vain for perfect rest, 
Languishes for true content." 6 

In general society his manners were not agree- 
able : he seemed to want gaiety of heart, and was 
apt to be dictatorial in conversation. But, when 
surrounded only by his intimate friends, he would 
instruct and deligiit them by the eloquence of his 
reasoning, the felicity of his allusions, and the va- 
riety of his knowledge. He had no wit himself, 
and took ill the jests of others. He was gifted 

1 Life of Akenside, 127. Li the next page, Mr. Bucke ob- 
serves that " Akenside's respect for women peeps out every- 
where " I 

2 Ode on the Winter Solstice, ed. 1745. 
8 Id. ibid, as the text now stands. 

^ Ode on Lyric Poetry, eds. 1745 and 1760; afterwards 
altered to " Olympia." 

fi S ong, — at the end of this volume. 
6 Ode, At Study. 



LIFE OP AKENSIDE. 103 

with a memory of extraordinary power, and per- 
fect readiness in the application of its stores. 
With the exception of Ben Jonson, Milton, and 
Gray, it would be difficult to name an English 
poet, whose scholarship was of a higher order 
than Akenside's. 

In his life-long friendship with Mr. Dyson, the 
warmth and constancy of his affections are strik- 
ingly displayed. He had a noble independence 
of spirit; and, notwithstanding his alleged politi- 
cal inconsistency, it should seem that the love of 
liberty, for which he was distinguished during the 
earlier part of his career, was but little impaired 
by the atmosphere of a court. His respect for 
Christianity he has testified more than once ; ^ but 
his religious creed, as indicated in his poetry, 
appears to have been nearly that of " his Master," 
Shaftesbury, pure theism. " * People would as- 
sert,' he was accustomed to say, * that I imitated 
Newton, or I should never allude to the Deity, or 
hear him alluded to by others, but I should make 
an inclination of my body.' And one day, being 
in company with Mr. Meyrick's father at a coffee- 
house, in the neighbourhood of Charing-cross, 

1 See his Odes " To the Author of Memoirs of the House of 
Brandenburgh," and " To the Bishop of Winchester." His 
townsman, Sir Gray Cooper, had a paraphrase of the Bene- 
dicite, which he " had good reasons for believing was written 
bv Akenside;" and he had heard that a Christmas Carol, 
which used to be sung in the streets of Newcastle, was also 
composed by our author. — See Buckets Life of Akenside. 183. 



1<H LlfE OF AKENSIDE. 

having listened, for some time, with impatience to 
the oratory of a Mr. Warnefield, who was making 
some severe remarks not only on Warburton's 
Divine Legation of Moses, but on the Bible itself, 
he, at length, interrupted him. ' I tell you what, 
sir,* said he: ' Warburton is no friend of- mine: 
but I detest hearing a man of learning abused. 
As to the Bible — believe or not, just as you 
please ; but let it contain as many absurdities, un- 
truths, and unsound doctrines, as you say it does, 
there is one passage, at least, that I am sure you, 
with all'your ingenuity and with all the eloquence 
you possess, have not the power to surpass. It is 
where the prophet says, — 'The children of men 
are much wiser than the children of light.'" ^ A 
hasty assertion of Walker, that " the immortality 
of the soul is scarcely once hinted at throughout 
the " Pleasures of Imagination," is cited by John- 
son,^ who yet allows, as an excuse for this " great 
defect," that Akenside " has omitted what was not 
properly in his plan." But, if either of them had 
carefully perused the work, could they have over- 
looked, among other passages of similar tendency,® 
the following lines ? — 

1 Bucke's Life of Akenside, 180. 

2 Life of Akenside. Li 1772, talking of " The Pleasures of 
Imagination," Johnson said to Boswell, " Sir, I could not read 
it through." — Z</e of Johnson, ii. 167, ed. 1816. 

8 See the original Poem, B. i. 163, 183, 212, 436; B. ii. 359; 
and the remodelled Poem, B. ii. 145. Mr. Bucke was assured 
by "an octogenarian of great learning," that he had every 



Llfte OF AKENSIDE. 105 

" Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye, 
Through the fair toils and oi-naraents of earth, 
Discerns the nobler life reserved for heaven.''^ cfc. 

I. 489 (Sec. Poem). 

On a series of papers by Addison, in " The 
Spectator," ^ Akenside founded his great didactic 
poem. To Shaftesbury and Hutcheson ^ also, he is 

reason to think that the following passage formed part of a 
letter from Akenside to Dr. Grainger : " Your friend seems to 
doubt whether he has a soul or not ; and yet surely he will 
not attempt to place himself on a level with Kepler; and so far 
was he from doubting that he had a soul, he gives one even to 
the earth itself." "In respect to its nature," said he on an- 
other occasion, "it is past my judgment, whether material or 
immaterial. Perhaps it may partake of both natures. Ter- 
tullian not only makes the soul matei'ial, but he gives a corporal 
body even to God himself; and Job says, ' In my flesh I shall see 
God.' The Christian doctrine also implies it, since it speaks 
of the resurrection of the body. Certainly, every thing that 
exists must have shape ; and if shape, form ; and if foi-m, sub- 
stance. But there may be many substances, and no doubt there 
are, beyond what we know of at present. Simplicius says 
there is in nature an active principle and a passive one: the 
soul may partake of the same differences ; the former principle 
associating with light, the latter with colour. Maximus Tyrius 
makes even a bolder assertion ; for he says, that God's oracles 
and men's understandings are of near alliance. Hence the 
assertion of Proclus, that all our souls are the children of God. 
But the fact is, we know little of these things. It is a great 
satisfaction, however, that we live in a wox-ld presenting every 
moment something to exercise our faculties; and that the 
grand Mover of the whole will, no doubt, make ample allow- 
ances for human infirmity." — Life of Akenside, 181. 

1 No. 411, et seq. 

2 Shaftesbury's Characteristics. — Hutcheson's Inquiry into 
the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue. 

H 



106 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

considerably indebted ; and from the writers of 
Greece and Rome he has derived a few of his 
ideas, and perhaps a portion of his inspiration, — 
for never had the genius and wisdom of antiquity 
a more ardent admirer, or a more unwearied 
student. In this celebrated work, if little in- 
vention is exhibited, the taste and skill with which 
the author has selected and combined his materials 
are everywhere conspicuous ; if the thoughts are 
not always stamped with originality, they have a 
general loftiness and an occasional subHmity; if 
some passages are not lighted up with poetic fire, 
they glow with rhetorical beauty ; while ingenious 
illustration and brilliant imagery enliven and adorn 
the whole. Akenside has chosen no unimportant 
theme, and he treats it with an earnestness and 
an enthusiasm which at once command attention. 
He pours forth a moral and philosophic strain, 
which elevates the mind ; but he dwells so little 
on actual existences and on human interests, that 
it rarely moves the heart. His diction is rich and 
curious ; sometimes, however, so redundant, as 
slightly to obscure the meaning, and sometimes so 
remote from common phraseology, as to impart an 
air of stiffness and turgidity to the lines. His 
versification is sweet and flowing; and, perhaps, 
those only who are familiar with the cadences of 
Milton will complain of its monotony. 

To " The Pleasures of Imagination," as pub- 
lished in 1744, the preceding observations are 



LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 107 

intended to apply. The second Poem, which in 
the estimation of some critics ^ is an improvement 
on the first, appears to me comparatively flat and 
prosaic, notwithstanding its superior correctness. 
Had Akenside devoted the leisure of his later 
years to an entirely new work, it would have 
formed a more acceptable bequest to posterity 
than the remoulded production of his youth. 

That he possessed powers for the graver kind of 
satire, is evinced by his " Epistle to Curio, ' — a 
composition remarkable for keen but not coarse 
invective, for dignity of reproof, and intensity of 
scorn. 

Throughout the range of English literature, 
there is nothing more deeply imbued with the spir- 
it of the ancient world than our author's " Hymn 
to the Naiads." In its solemnity, its pomp of 
expression, and its mythologic lore, he has shown 
himself a most successful imitator of Callimachus ; 
yet is it far from being the mere echo of a Grecian 
hymn.^ Nor are his terse and energetic " Inscrip- 
tions " less worthy of praise. 

1 Among whom was Hazlitt, — Lectures on English Poets, 
236. 

2 In 1594, ChapAian, the fine old dramatist, and translator 
of Homer, published a tract, entitled I,Kia vu/crof, " The Sha- 
dow of Night," which consists of two Hymns, " To Night," 
and " To Cynthia," — very learned and mystical effusions, 
with occasional gleams Of poetry. To attempt some Hymns in 
the manner of Callimachus was among the literary projects of 
Milton : see " The Reason of Church Government urged against 
Prelaty," 1641, p. 89. 



108 LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 

In some of Akenside's Odes, — especially those 
" On the Winter Solstice " and on " Lyric Poetry," 
— there are stanzas of pleasing picturesqueness ; 
but, in the greater number, he appeals chiefly to 
the understanding of the reader,^ and is not soli- 
citous to heighten the effect of the sentiments by 
wreathing them with the flowers of fancy. In 
those " To the Earl of Huntingdon " and " To the 
Country Gentlemen of England," he rises to a 
gnomic grandeur, which has seldom been surpassed. 
His Odes, on the whole, are deficient in impetu- 
ousness, warmth of colouring, tenderness, and me- 
lody. 

1 Mason had been told that Akenside " entertained, some 
years before his death, a notion that poetry was only true elo- 
quence in metre.^^ — Memoirs of Gray, 261, edit. 1775. 



APPENDIX 
TO THE LIFE OF AKENSIDE. 



P. 61, note 3. " Would to Heaven," said he [i. e. the " Doc 
tor"], "my Muse were blessed with an occiision to emulate 
that glorious testimony on the trophy in Cyprus, erected by Ci- 
mon, for two great victories gained on the same day over the 
Persians by sea and land; in which it is very remarkable, that 
the greatness of the occasion has raised the manner of^ expression 
above the usual simplicity and modesty of all other ancient inscrip- 
tions:' — Peregrine Pickle, ii. 248, edit. 1751. What I have 
marked in Italics is from Akenside's note on the " Ode to the 
Earl of Huntmgdon: " which see. 

P. 83. "Thee, too facetious Momion," &c. — The Archso- 
hqia jEliana, vol. ii. part. ii. Newcastle, 1830, containing " An 
Account of the Life and Writings of Richard Dawes," has just 
fallen into my hands. I learn from it, that Akenside had been 
a pupil of Dawes, when that great scholar was head-master 
of the Grammar School of Newcastle, to which office he was 
appointed in 1738 ; and that, in the character of Momion, the 
poet was supposed to have described his old master. In a 
strange pamphlet (so scarce that I have never been able to pro- 
cure a sight of it) called " Extracts from a MS. Pamphlet, 
entitled the Tittle Tattle lilongers," which Dawes published 
at Newcastle in 1747, are the follo^ving observations on the 
passao-e of the " Pleasures of Imagination," where Momion is 
mentioned: — "A certain illustrious collection of genii have 
thout'ht proper to apply this character personally. The part 
of the brotherhood they take to themselves, and are so kind as 
to confer that of Momion upon Philhomerus [DawesJ. The 
poet, indeed, has absolutely denied that the character was 
intended personally, and has professed himself astonished at 
the application. But his pleading non-intention with respect 
to another gentleman, after having declared himself astonished 



110 APPENDIX. 



at what was his doctiine, makes me entertain but a moderate 
opinion of his veracity. And in this opinion I am confirmed 
by the conduct of his friends, the genii, who, notwithstanding 
his remonstrance, persist in the application. Nav, I am apt 
to believe, that they, being acquainted with his blushing diji- 
dence, instigated, if not liired, him to undertake so notable a 
prank." The words *' blushing diffidence " allude to a passage 
in the " Pleasm-es of Imagination," B. iii. 205, first edition: — 

" Forgive my song, 
That for the blushing diffidence of youth," &c. 

P. 84. — In an unpublished letter from J. Edwards to Daniel 
Wray, dated Turrick, Apx-il 28, 1756, is the following passage: 
" I am glad to hear that Dr. Akenside has recovered Dver 
again ; but has Dyer recovered his poetical vein V Alas ! I lear 
we shall have no Fleece at last. I hope the Doctor will publish 
the Ode you mention to the Bishop of Winchester. [See Life 
of Akenside, p. 63.] I could have wished he had not recalled 
the Uberty he once gave me to print that he honored me with." 
[See Life of Akenside, p. 90.] 

P. 101. — That " Akenside, when he walked in the streets, 
looked for all the world like one of his own Alexandrines set 
upright," was a saying of Henderson the actor, for which I am 
indebted to a true poet of our own day, Mr. Rogers, who heard 
it repeated many years ago. 



POEMS. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



This volume contains a complete collection of the Poems of the 
late Dr. Akenside, either reprinted from the original editions, 
or faitlifully published from copies which had been prepared 
bj^ himseIf"^for publication. 

That the principal Poem should appear in so disadvantageous 
a state may require some explanation. The first publication 
of it was at a very early part of the author's life. That it 
wanted revision and correction, he v/as sufficientl}' sensible; 
but so quick was the demand for several successive republica- 
tions, that, in any of the intervals, to have com]jleted the whole 
of his corrections, was utterly impossible ; and yet to have gone 
on from time to time making farther improvements in eveiy 
new edition would (he thought) have had the appearance at 
least of abusing the favour of the public. He chose, therefore, 
to continue for some time reprinting it without alteration, and 
to forbear publishing any corrections or improvements until he 
should be able at once to give them to the public complete. 
And, with this view, he went on* for several years to review 
and correct the poem at his leisure; till at length he found the 
task grow so much upon his hands, that, despairing of ever 
being able to execute it sufficiently to his own satisfaction, he 
abandoned the purpose of correcting, and resolved to write the 
poem over anew, upon a somewhat diflerent and an enlarged 
plan. And, in the execution of this design, he had made a con- 
siderable progress. What reason there may be to regret that 
he did not live to execute the whole of it will best appear from 
the perusal of the plan itself, as stated in the General Argu- 
ment, and of the parts which he had executed, and which are 
here published. For the person to whom he intrusted the dis- 
posal of his papers would have thought himself wanting, as 
well to the service of the public as to the fame of his friend, if 
ho had not produced as much of the work as appeared to have 
been prepared for publication. In this hght he considered the 

1 To Mr. Dyson's edition of Akenside's Poems, 1772. 



114 ADVERTISEMENT. 

entire First and Second Books, of which a few copies had been 
printed for the use only of the author and certain friends; 
also a very considerable part of the Third Book, which had 
been transcribed in order to its being pi'uited in the same man- 
nci-; and to these is added the Introduction to a subsequent 
Book, which, in the manuscript, is -called the Fourth, and 
which appears to have been composed at the time when the 
author intended to comprise the whole in Four Books; but 
which, as he had afterwards determined to distribute the Poem 
into more books, might perhaps more properly be called the 
Last Book. And this is all that is executed of the new work, 
which, although it appeared to the editor too valuable, even in 
its imperfect state, to be witliholden from the pubUc, yet (he 
conceives) takes in by much too small a part of the original 
Poem to supply its place, and to supersede the republication 
of it. For which reason both the Poems, are inserted in this 
collection. 

Of Odes the author had designed to make up Two Books, 
consisting of twenty Odes each, including the several Odes 
which he had before published at different times. 

The Hymn to the Naiads is reprinted from the sixth volume 
of Dodsley's Miscellanies, with a few corrections, and the addi- 
tion of some notes. To the Inscriptions taken from the same 
volume, three new Inscriptions are added, the last of which is 
the only instance wherein a liberty has been taken of inserting 
any thing in this Collection, which did not appear to have been 
intended by the author for publication ; among whose papers 
no copy of this was found, but it is printed from a copy wliich 
he had many years since given to the editor. 

The author of these Poems was born at Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne, on the 9th day of November, 1721. He was educated at 
the Grammar School at Newcastle, and at the Universities of 
Edinburgh and Leyden, at .the latter of which he took his 
degree of Doctor in Physic. He was afterwards admitted by 
mandamus to the degree of Doctor in Physic in the University 
of Cambridge ; elected a Fellow of the Royal College of Phy- 
sicians, and one of the Physicians of St. Thomas's Hospital; 
and, upon the establishment of the Queen's Household, ap- 
pointed one of the Physicians to Her Majesty. He died of a 
putrid fever, on the 23d day of June, 1770, and is buried in the 
parish church of St. James, Westminster. 



/^ 



THE 



PLEASUEES OF IMAGINATION. 

A POEM, IN THREE BOOKS. 



'AaeSovc (dv hanv avdpunov raf napa rov Qeov xapirag an^ 
fid^Eiv. — Epict. apud Arrian. II. 23. 



THE DESIGN. 

There are certain powers in human nature which seem to hold 
a middle place between the oi-gans of bodily sense and the 
faculties of moral perception: they have been called by a very 
general name, the Powers of Imagination. Like the external 
senses, they relate to matter and motion; and, at the same 
time, give the mind ideas analogous to those of moral approba- 
tion and dislike. As they are the inlets of some of the most 
exquisite pleasures with which we are acquainted, it has 
naturally happened that men of wann and sensible tempers 
have sought means to recall the delightful perceptions which 
they afford, independent of the objects which originally pro- 
duced them. This gave rise to the imitative or designing arts ; 
some of which, as painting and sculpture, directly copy the 
external appearances which were admired in nature; others, 
as music and poetry, bring them back to remembrance by 
signs universally estabUshed and understood. 

But these arts, as they grew more correct and deliberate, 
■were of course led to extend their imitation beyond the peculiar 
objects of the imaginative powers; especially poetry, which, 
making use of language as the instrument by which it imitates, 



116 THE DESIGN. 

is consequently become an unlimited representative of every 
species and mode of being. Yet, as their intention was only 
to express the objects of imagination, and as they still abound 
chiefly in ideas of that class, tliey of course retain their original 
character ; and all the different pleasures which they excite 
are termed, in general, Pleasures of Imagination. 

The design of the following poem is to give a view of these, 
in the largest acceptation of the term ; so that whatever omr 
imagination feels from the agreeable appearances of nature, 
and all the various entertainment we meet with either in 
poetry, painting, music, or any of the elegant arts, might be 
deducible from one or other of those priiiciples in the consti- 
tution of the human mind which are here established and 
explained. 

In executing this general plan, it was necessary, fii-st of all, 
to distinguish the imagination from our other faculties ; and, 
in the next place, to characterize those original forms or pro- 
perties of being about which it is conversant, and which are 
by nature adapted to it, as light is to the eyes, or truth to the 
understanding. These properties Mr. Addison had reduced to 
the three general classes of greatness, novelty, and beauty; 
and into these we may analyze every object, however complex, 
which, properly speaking, is deliglitful to the imagination. 
But such an object may also include many other sources of 
pleasure; and its beauty or novelty' or grandeur will make a 
stronger impression by reason of this concurrence. Besides 
which, the imitative arts, especially poetry, owe much of their 
effect to a similar exhibition of properties quite foreign to the 
imagination, insomuch that, in every line of the most ap- 
plauded poems, we meet with either ideas drawn from the 
external senses, or truths discovered to the understanding, or 
illustrations of contrivance and final causes, or, above all the 
rest, with circumstances proper to awaken and engage the pas- 
sions. It was therefore necessary to enumerate and exemplify 
these different species of pleasure, especially that from the 
passions, which, as it is supreme in the noblest work of human 
genius, so being in some particulars not a little surprising, 
gave an opportunity to enliven the didactic turn of the poem, 
by introducing an allegory to account for the appearance. 



THE DESIGN. 117 

After these parts of the subject, which hold chiefly of admi- 
ration, or naturally warm and interest the mind, a pleasure of 
a very diflerent nature, that which arises from ridicule, came 
next to be considered. As this is the foundation of the comic 
manner' in all the arts, and has been but very imperfectly 
treated by moral writers, it was thought proper tp give it a 
particular illustration, and to distinguish the general sources 
from which the ridicule of charactei's is derived. Here, too, 
a change of style became necessary ; such a one as might yet 
be consistent, if possible, with the general taste of composition 
in the serious parts of the subject; nor is it an easy task to 
give any tolerable force to images of this kind, without running 
either into the gigantic expressions of the mock heroic, or the 
familiar and poetical raillery of professed satire, neither of 
which would have been proper here. 

The materials of all imitation being thus laid open, nothing 
now remained but to illustrate some particular pleasures, 
which ai'ise either from the relations of different objects one 
to another, or from the nature of imitation itself. Of the first 
kind is that various and complicated resemblance existing 
between several pai'ts of the material and immaterial worlds, 
which is the foundation of metaphor and wit. As it seems in 
a great measure to depend on the early association of our ideas, 
and as this habit of associating is the source of many pleasures 
and pains in life, and on that account bears a great share in 
the influence of poetry and the other arts, it is therefore men- 
tioned here, and its effects described. Then follows a general 
account of the production of these elegant arts, and of the 
secondary pleasure, as it is called, arising fronfthe resemblance 
of their imitations to the original appearances of nature. After 
which, the work concludes with some reflections on the gene- 
ral conduct of the powers of imagination, and on their natural 
and moral usefulness in life. 

Concerning the manner or turn of composition which pre- 
vails in this piece, little can be said with propriety by the 
author. He had two models : that ancient and simple one of 
the first Grecian poets, as it is refined by "Virgil in the Georgics ; 
and the familiar, epistolary way of Horace. This latter has 
several advantages. It admits of a greater variety of style; 



118 THE DESIGN. 

it more readily engages the generality of readers, as partaking 
more of the air of conversation ; and, especially with the assist- 
ance of rhyme, leads to a closer and more concise expression. 
Add to this the example of the most perfect of modern poets, 
who has so happily applied this manner to the noblest parts of 
philosophy, that the public taste is in a great measure formed 
to it alone. Yet, after all, the subject before us, tending almost 
constantly to admiration and enthusiasm, seemed rather to 
demand a more open, pathetic, and figured style. This, too, 
appeared more natural; as the author's aim was not so much 
to give formal precepts, or enter into the way of direct argu- 
mentation, as, by exhibiting the most engaging prospects of 
nature, to enlarge and harmonize the imagination, and by that 
means insensibly dispose the minds of men to a similar taste 
and habit of thinking in religion, moi-als, and civil Hfe. 'Tis 
on this account that he is so careful to point out the benevo- 
lent intention of the Author of nature in every principle ot 
the human constitution here insisted on, and also to unite the 
moral excellencies of life in the same point of view with 
the mere external objects of good taste; thus recommending 
them in common to our natural propensity for admiring what 
is beautiful and lovely. The same views have also led him 
to introduce some sentiments which may perhaps be looked 
upon as not quite direct to the subject; but, since they bear 
an obvious relation to it, the authority of Virgil, the faultless 
model of didactic poetry, will best support him in this parti- 
cular. For the sentiments themselves he makes no apology. 



PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 119 



BOOK I. 

ARGUMENT. 

The subject proposed. Difficulty of treating it poetically. The ideas 
of the Divine Mind, the origin of every quality pleasing to the 
imagination. The natural variety of constitution in the minds of 
men, with its final cause. The idea of a fine imagination, and the 
state of the mind in the enjoyment of those pleasures which it 
affords. All the primary pleasures of the imagination result from 
the perception of greatness or wonderfulness or beauty in objects. 
The pleasure from greatness, with its final cause. Pleasure from 
novelty or wonderfulness, with its final cause. Pleasure from beauty, 
■with its final cause. The connection of beauty with truth and good, 
applied to the conduct of life. Invitation to the study of moral 
philosophy. The different degrees of beauty in different species of 
objects : colour, shape, natural concretes, vegetables, animals, the 
mind. The sublime, the fair, the wonderful of the mind. The 
connection of the imagination and the moral faculty. Conclu- 
sion. 

With what attractive charms this goodly frame 

Of Nature touches the consenting hearts 

Of mortal men ; and what the pleasing stores 

Which beauteous Imitation thence derives 

To deck the poet's or the painter's toil, — 

My verse unfolds. Attend, ye gentle powers 

Of musical delight ! and while I sing 

Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain. 

Thou, smiling queen of every tuneful breast, 

Indulgent Fancy ! from the fruitful banks lo 

Of Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cull 

Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf 

Where Shakespeare lies, be present ; and with thee 



120 THE PLEASURES OF 

Let Fiction come, upon her vagrant wings 
Wafting ten thousand colours through the air, 
Which, by the glances of her magic eye, 
She blends and shifts at will, thro' countless forms, 
Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre, 
Which rules the accents of the moving sphere, 
Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend 20 

And join this festive train ? for with thee comes 
The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports, 
Majestic Truth ; and where Truth deigns to come, 
Her sister Liberty will not be far. 
Be present, all ye Genii, who conduct 
The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard, 
New to your springs and shades ; who touch his ear 
With finer sounds ; who heighten to his eye 
The bloom of Nature, and before him turn 
The gayest, happiest attitude of things. so 

Oft have the laws of each poetic strain 
The critic-verse employ'd ; yet still unsung 
Lay this prime subject, though importing most 
A poet's name; for fruitless is ihe attempt, 
By dull obedience and by creeping toil 
Obscure, to conquer the severe ascent 
Of high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breath 
Must fire the chosen genius ; Nature's hand 
Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings 
Impatient of the painful steep, to soar « 

High as the summit ; there to breathe at large 
JEthereal air ; with bards and sages old. 
Immortal sons of praise. These flattering scenes, 



IMiLGINATION. BOOK I. 121 

To (his neglected labour court my song; 
Yet not unconscious what a doubtful task 
To paint the finest features of the mind, 
And to most subtile and mysterious things 
Give colour, strength, and motion. But the love 
Of Nature and the Muses bids explore, 
Through secret paths erewhile untrod by man, eo 
The fair poetic region, to detect 
Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts, 
And shade my temples with unfading flowers 
Cull'd from the laureate vale's profound recess. 
Where never poet gain'd a wreath before. 

From Heaven my strains begin ; from Heaven 
descends 
The flame of genius to the human breast, 
And love, and beauty, and poetic joy, 
And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun 
Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night eo 
The moon suspended her serener lamp ; 
Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the globe. 
Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore ; 
Then liv'd the Almighty One : then, deep-retir'd 
In his unfathom'd essence, view'd the forms. 
The forms eternal of created things ; 
The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp, 
Tlie mounlains,woods, and streams, the rollingglobe. 
And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first 
Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd, ro 

His admiration ; till in time complete 
What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital smile 
I 



122 THE PLEASURES OF 

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath 

Of life informing each organic frame, 

Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves; 

Hence light and shade alternate, warmth and cold; 

And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers, 

And all the fair variety of things. 

But not alike to every mortal eye 
Is this great scene unveil'd. For since the claims 
Of social life to different labours urge si 

The active powers of man, with wise intent 
The hand of Nature on peculiar minds 
Imprints a different bias, and to each 
Decrees its province in the common toil. 
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere. 
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, 
The golden zones of heaven : to some sh6 gave 
To weigh the moment of eternal things, 
Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain, 90 
And will's quick impulse : others by the hand 
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore 
What healing virtue swells the tender veins 
Of herbs and flowers ; or what the beams of morn 
Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind 
In balmy tears. But some, to higher hopes 
Were destin'd ; some within a finer mould 
She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame. 
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds 
The world's harmonious volume, there to read 100 
The transcript of Himself On every part 
They trace the bright impressions of his hand : 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 123 

In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores, 
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin'^s form 
Blooming with rosj^ smiles, they see portray'd 
That uncreated beauty, which delights 
The Mind supreme. They also feel her charms, 
Enamour'd ; they partake the eternal joy. 

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd 
By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch no 

Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string 
Consenting, sounded through the warbling air 
Unbidden strains ; even so did Nature's band 
To certain species of external things, 
Attune the finer organs of the mind : 
So the glad impulse of congenial powers. 
Or of sweet sound, or fair proportion'd form, 
The grace of motion, or the bloom of light. 
Thrills through Imagination's tender frame, 
From nerve to nerve : all naked and alive 120 

They catch the spreading rays ; till now the soul 
At length discloses every tuneful spring, 
To that harmonious movement from without 
Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain 
Diffuses its enchantment ; Fancy dreams 
Of sacred fountains, and Elysian groves. 
And vales of bliss ; the intellectual power 
Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear. 
And smiles ; the passions, gently sooth'd away. 
Sink to divine repose, and love and joy 130 

Alone are waking ; love and joy, serene 
As airs that fan the summer. O ! attend, 



124 THE PLEASURES OF 

Who'er thou art, whom these delights can touch, 
Whose candid bosom the refining love 
Of Nature warms, ! listen to my song ; 
And I will guide thee to her favourite walks, 
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear, 
And point her loveliest features to thy view. 

Know, then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores, 
Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected forms, i« 

With love and admiration thus inflame 
The powers of Fancy, her delighted sons 
To three illustrious orders have referr'd ; 
Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand. 
The poet's tongue, confesses ; the sublime, 
The wonderful, the fjiir. I see them dawn ! 
I see the radiant visions, where they rise. 
More lovely than when Lucifer displays 
His beaming forehead through the gates of morn, 
To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring. iso 

Say, why was man so eminently rais'd 
Amid the vast Creation ; why ordain'd 
Through life and death to dart his piercing eye, 
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ; 
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth, 
In sight of mortal and immortal powers. 
As on a boundless theatre, to run 
The great career of justice ; to exalt 
His generous aim to all diviner deeds; 
To chase each partial purpose from his breast; igo 
And through the mists of passion and of sense, 
And through the tossing tide of chance and pain, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 125 

To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice 
Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent 
Of nature, calls him to his high reward, 
The applauding smile of Heaven ? Else wherefore 
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, [burns 
That breathes from day to day sublimer things. 
And mocks possession ? wherefore darts the mind. 
With such resistless ardour, to embrace i7o 

Majestic forms ; impatient to be free. 
Spurning the gross control of wilful might ; 
Proud of the strong contention of her toils ; 
Proud to be daring ? Who but rather turns 
To heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view. 
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ? 
Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye 
Shoots round the Avide horizon, to survey 
Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave [shade, 
Thro' mountains, plains, thro' empires black with 
And continents of sand, will turn his gaze isi 

To mark the windings of a scanty rill 
That murmurs at his feet ? The high-born soul 
Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing 
Beneath its native quarry. Tir'd of earth 
And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 
Through fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ; 
Rides on the voUied lightnings through the heavens ; 
Or, yok'd with whirlwinds and the iioi*thern blast. 
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars 
The blue profound, and, hovering round the sun, 
Beholds him pouring the redundant stream m 



126 THE PLEASURES OP 

Of liglit ; beholds his unrelenting sway 
Bend the reluctant planets to absolve 
The fated rounds of Time. Thence far effus'd 
Slie darts her swiftness up the long career 
Of devious comets ; through its burning signs 
Exulting measures the perennial wheel 
Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars, 
"Whose blended light, as with a milky zone, 200 
Invests the orient. Now amaz'U she views 
The empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold, 
Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode ; 
And fields of radiance, whose unfading light 
Has travell'd the profound six thousand years, 
Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things. 
Even on the barriers of the world, untir'd, 
She meditates the eternal depth below ; 
Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steep 
She plunges ; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallow'd up 
In that immense of being. There her hopes 211 
Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth 
Of mortal man, the Sovereign IMaker said, 
That not in humble nor in brief delight, 
Not in the fading echoes of renown. 
Power's purple robes, nor pleasure's flowery lap, 
The soul should find enjoyment ; but from these, 
Turning disdainful to an equal good. 
Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view, 
Till every bound at length should disappear, 220 
And infinite perfection close the scene. 

Call now to mind what high capacious powers 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 127 

Lie folded up in man ; how far beyond 

The praise of mortals may the eternal growth 

Of Nature to perfection half divine, 

Expand the blooming soul ? What pity, then. 

Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth 

Her tender blossom ; choke the streams of life, 

And blast her spring ! Far otherwise design'd 

Almighty Wisdom ; Nature's happy cares 230 

The obedient heart far otherwise incline. 

Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown 

Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power 

To brisker measures : witness the neglect 

Of all familiar prospects, though beheld 

With transport once ; the fond attentive gaze 

Of young astonishment ; the sober zeal 

Of age, commenting on prodigious things. 

For such the bounteous providence of Heaven, 

In every breast implanting this desire 240 

Of objects new and strange, to urge us on 

With unremitted labour to pursue 

Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul, 

In Truth's cxhaustless bosom. What need words 

To paint its power? For this the daring youth 

Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms, 

In foreign climes to rove ; the pensive sage. 

Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp, 

Hangs o'er the sickly taper ; and, untir'd, 

The virgin follows, with enchanted step, 250 

The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale, 

From morn to eve ; unmindful of her form, 



128 THE PLEASURES OF 

Unmindful of the happy dress that stole 
The wishes of the youth, when every maid 
With envy pin'd. Hence, finally, by night 
The village-matron, round the blazing hearth, 
Suspends the infant audience with her tales, 
Breathing astonishment ! of witching rhymes. 
And evil spirits ; of the death-bed call 
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd 260 
The orphan's portion ; of unquiet souls 
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt 
Of deeds in life concealed ; of shapes that walk 
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave 
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed. 
At every solemn pause the crowd recoil. 
Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd 
With shivering sighs ; till, eager for the event, 
Around the beldame all erect they hang. 
Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd. 
But lo ! disclos'd in all her smiling pomp, 271 
Where Beauty onward moving claims the verse 
Her charms inspire : the freely -flowing verse 
In thy immortal praise, O form divine ! 
Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, Beauty, thee 
The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray 
The mossy roofs adore : thou, better sun ! 
For ever beamest on the enchanted heart 
Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight 
Poetic. Brightest progeny of Heaven ! sso 

How shall I trace thy features ? where select 
The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom ? 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 129 

Haste, then, mj song, thro' Nature's ^Yide expanse. 
Haste, then, and gather all her comeliest weakh, 
Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contain^, 
"VVhate'er the waters, or the liquid air. 
To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou fly 
"With laughing Autumn to the Atlantic isles, 
And range with him the Hesperian field, and see 
"Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, 230 
The branches shoot with gold ; where'er his step 
Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters grow 
"W^th purple ripeness, and invest each hill 
As with the blushes of an evening sky ? 
Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume, 
"Where, gliding thro' his daughter's honour'd shades 
The smooth Peneus from his glassy flood 
Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene ? 
Fair Tempe ! haunt belov'd of sylvan Powers, 
Of Nymphs and Fauns ; where in the golden age 
They play'd in secret on the shady brink 301 

"With ancient Pan ; while round their choral steps 
Young Hours and genial Gales with constant hand 
Shower'd blossoms, odours, shower'd ambrosial 

dews, 
And spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery store 
To thee nor Tempe shall refuse ; nor watch 
Of winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruits 
From thy free spoil. O bear then, unreprov'd, 
Thy smiling treasures to the green recess 
"Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs 
Entice her forth to lend her angel form an 



130 THE PLEASURES OF 

For Beauty's lionour'd image. Hither turn 
Thy graceful footsteps ; hither, gentle maid, 
Incline thy polish'd forehead : let thy eyes 
Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn ; 
And may the fanning breezes waft aside 
Thy radiant locks ; disclosing, as it bends 
With airy softness from the marble neck, 
The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip, 
"Where winning smiles and pleasures sweet as love, 
With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend 321 
Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force 
Of Nature, and her kind, parental care, 
Worthier I'd sing ; then all the enamour'd youth, 
With each admiring virgin, to my lyre 
Should throng attentive, while I point on high 
Where Beauty's living image, like the Morn 
That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May, 
Moves onward ; or as Venus, when she stood 
Effulgent on the pearly car, and smil'd, sso 

Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form, 
To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells, 
And each cerulean sister of the flood 
With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves. 
To seek the Idalian bower. Ye smiling band 
Of youths and virgins, who, through all the maze 
Of young desire, with rival steps pursue 
This charm of Beauty ; if the pleasing toil 
Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn 
Your favourable ear, and trust my words. m 

I do not mean to wake the gloomy form 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 131 

Of Superstition, dress'd in Wisdom's garb, 
To damp your tender hopes ; I do not mean 
To bid the jealous thunderer lire the licavens, 
Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth, 
To fright you from your joys : my cheerful song 
With better omens calls you to the field, 
Pleas'd with your generous ardour in the chase, 
And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know. 
Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where health ^ 
And active use are strangers ? Is her charm 
Confess'd in aught, whose most peculiar ends 
Are lame and fruitless ? Or did Nature mean ' 
This pleasing call the herald of a lie ; 
To hide the shame of discord and disease, 
And catch with fair hypocrisy the heart 
Of idle faith ? O no ! with better cares 
The indulgent mother, conscious how infirm 
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill, 
By this illustrious image, in each kind ^^ 

Still most illustrious where the object holds 
Its native powers most perfect, she by this 
Illumes the headstrong impulse of desire. 
And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebe 
Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract 
Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul. 
The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense, 
And every charm of animated things, 
Are only pledges of a state sincere, 
The integrity and order of their frame, «n 

When all is well within, and every end 



13$ THE PLEASURES OF 

Accomplish'd. Thus was Beauty sent from heaven, 

The lovely ministress of Truth and Good 

In this dark world ; for Truth and Good are one, 

And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 

With like participation. Wherefore, then, 

O sons of earth ! would ye dissolve the tie ? 

O wherefore, with a rash, impetuous aim. 

Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand 

Of lavish Fancy paints each flattering scene sao 

Where Beauty seems to dwell ; nor once inquire 

Where is the sanction of eternal Truth, 

Or where the seal of undeceitful good. 

To save your search from folly ! Wanting these, 

Lo ! Beauty withers in your void embrace. 

And with the glittering of an idiot's toy 

Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor let the gleam 

Of youthful hope that shines upon your hearts 

Be chill'd or clouded at this awful task. 

To learn the lore of undeceitful good, sao 

And Truth eternal. Though the poisonous charms 

Of baleful Superstition guide the feet 

Of servile numbers, through a dreary way 

To their abode, through deserts, thorns, and mire ; 

And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn 

To muse at last amid the ghostly gloom 

Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloister'd cells ; 

To walk with spectres through the midnight shade, 

And to the screaming owl's accursed song 

Attune the dreadful workings of his heart ; too 

Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 133 

Your lovely search illumines. From the grove 
Where AVisdom talk'd with her Athenian sons, 
Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath 
Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay, 
Then should my powerful verse at once dispel 
Those monkish horrors ; then in light divine 
Disclose the Elysian prospect, where the steps 
Of those whom Nature charms, through blooming 

walks. 
Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams, 
Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards, m 

Led by their winged Genius, and the choir 
Of laurell'd science and harmonious art, 
Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine, 
"Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins, 
The undivided partners of her sway, 
AVith good and beauty reigns. O let not us, 
Luird by luxurious Pleasure's languid strain, 
Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage, 
O let us not a moment pause to join 420 

That godlike band. And if the gracious Power 
Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song. 
Will to my invocation breathe anew 
The tuneful spirit ; then, through all our paths, 
Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre 
Be wanting ; whether on the rosy mead, 
When summer smiles, to warn the melting heart 
Of luxury's allurement ; whether firm 
Against the torrent and the stubborn hill 
To urge bold Virtue's unremitted nerve, «» 



134 THE PLEASURES OF 

And wake the strong divinity of soul 

That conquers chance and fate ; or whether struck 

For sounds of triumph, to proclaim her toils 

Upon the lofty summit, round her brow 

To twine the wreath of incorruptive praise ; 

To trace her hallow'd light through future worlds, 

And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man. 

Thus with a faithful aim have we presum'd, 
Adventurous, to delineate Nature's form ; 
Whether in vast, majestic pomp array'd, «o 

Or drest for pleasing wonder, or serene 
In Beauty's rosy smile. It now remains, 
Tlirough various being's fair proportioned scale, 
To trace the rising lustre of her charms. 
From their first twilight, shining forth at length 
To full meridian splendour. Of degree 
The least and lowliest, in the effusive warmth 
Of colours mingling with a random blaze. 
Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the line 
And variation of determin'd shape, «o 

Where Truth's eternal measures mark the bound 
Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent 
Unites this varied symmetry of parts 
With colour's bland allurement ; as the pearl 
Shines in the concave of its azure, bed. 
And painted shells indent their speckled wreath. 
Then more attractive rise the blooming forms 
Through which the breath of Nature has infus'd 
Her genial power to draw with pregnant veins 
Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth, mo 



niAGINATION. BOOK I. 135 

In fruit and seed prolific : thus the flowers 

Their purple honours with the Spring resume; 

And such the stately tree which Autumn bends 

AVith blushing treasures. But more lovely still 

Is Nature's charm, where to the full consent 

Of complicated members, to the bloom 

Of colour, and the vital change of growth, 

Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given, 

And active motion speaks the temper'd soul: 

So moves the bird of Juno ; so the steed iro 

With rival ardour beats the dusty plain, 

And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy 

Salute their fellows. Thus doth Beauty dwell 

There most conspicuous, even in outward shape, 

Where dawns the high expression of a mind ; 

By steps conducting our enraptur'd search 

To that eternal origin, whose power. 

Through all the unbounded symmetry of things, 

Like rays effulging from the parent sun, 

This endless mixture of her charms diffus'd. 430 

IMind, mind alone, (bear witness earth and heaven !) 

The living fountains in itself contains 

Of beauteous and sublime : here, hand in hand, 

Sit paramount the Graces ; here enthron'd. 

Celestial Venus, with divinest airs, 

Invites the soul to never-fading joy. 

Look then abroad through nature, to the range 

Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres 

Wheeling unshaken through the void immense ; 

And speak, man ! does this capacious scene «o 



136 THE PLEASURES OP 

With half that kindling majesty dilate 

Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose 

Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate, 

Amid the crowd of patriots ; and his arm 

Aloft extending, like eternal Jove 

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 

On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel, 

And bade the father of his country, hail ! 

For lo ! the tyrant prostrate on the dust. 

And Rome again is free ! Is aught so fair mo 

In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring, 

In the bright eye of Hesper, or the morn, 

In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair 

As virtuous friendship ? as the candid blush 

Of him who strives with fortune to be just? 

The graceful tear that streams for others' woes ? 

Or the mild majesty of private life, 

Where Peace with ever-blooming olive crowns 

The gate ; where Honour's liberal hands effuse 

Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings sio 

Of Innocence and Love protect the scene ? 

Once more search, undismay'd, the dark profound 

Where Nature works in secret ;' view the beds 

Of mineral treasure, and the eternal vault 

That bounds the hoary ocean ; trace the forms 

Of atoms moving with incessant change 

Their elemental round ; behold the seeds 

Of being, and the energy of life 

Kindling the mass with ever-active flame : 

Then to the secrets of the working mind 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 137 

Attentive turn ; from dim oblivion call 

Her fleet, ideal band ; and bid them, go ! 

Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour 

That saw the heavens created : then declare 

If aught were found in those external scenes 

To move thy wonder now. For what are all 

The forms which brute, unconscious matter wears, 

Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts ? 

Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows 

The superficial impulse ; dull their charms, b30 

And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye. 

Not so the moral species, nor the powers 

Of genius and design ; .the ambitious mind 

There sees herself: by these congenial forms 

Touch'd and awaken'd, with intenser act 

She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleas'd 

Her features in the mirror. For of all 

The inhabitants of earth, to man alone 

Creative Wisdom gave to lift his eye 

To Truth's eternal measures ; thence to frame «o 

The sacred laws of action and of will. 

Discerning justice from unequal deeds, 

And temperance from folly. But beyond 

This energy of Truth, whose dictates bind 

Assenting reason, the benignant Sire, 

To deck the honour'd paths of just and good. 

Has added bright Imagination's rays : 

Where Virtue, rising from the awful depth 

Of Truth's mysterious bosom, doth forsake 

The unadom'd condition of her birth ; «o 

K 



138 THE PLEASURES OF 

And, dress'd by Fancy in ten thousand hues, 

Assumes a various feature, to attract, 

With charms responsive to each gazer's eye, 

The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk, 

The ingenuous youth, whom solitude inspires 

With purest wishes, from the pensive shade 

Beholds her moving, like a virgin muse 

That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme 

Of harmony and wonder; while among 

The herd of servile minds, her strenuous form seo 

Indignant flashes on the patriot's eye. 

And through the rolls of memory appeals 

To ancient honour, or in act serene, 

Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword 

Of public Power, from dark Ambition's reach 

To guard the sacred volume of the laws. 

Genius of ancient Greece ! whose faithful steps 
Well pleas'd I follow through the sacred paths 
Of Nature and of Science ; nurse divine 
Of all heroic deeds and fair desires ! sro 

O ! let the breath of thy extended praise 
Inspire my kindling bosom to the height 
Of this untempted theme. Nor be my thoughts 
Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm 
That soothes this vernal evening into smiles, 
I steal impatient from the sordid haunts 
Of Strife and low Ambition, to attend 
Thy sacred presence in the sylvan shade. 
By their malignant footsteps ne'er profan'd. 
Descend propitious ! to my favour'd eye ; «» 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 139 

Such in tliy mien, thy warm, exalted air, 

As when the Persian tyrant, foil'd and stung 

With shame and desperation, gnash'd his teeth 

To see thee rend the pageants of his throne ; 

And at the lightning of thy lifted spear 

Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils, 

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs. 

Thy smiling band of art, thy godlike sires 

Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth 589 

Warm from the schools of glory. Guide ray way 

Through fair Lyceum's walk, the green retreats 

Of Academus, and the thymy vale, 

Where oft enchanted with Socratic sounds, 

Ilissus pure devolv'd his tuneful stream 

In gentler murmurs. From the blooming store 

Of these auspicious fields, may I unblam'd 

Transplant some living blossoms to adorn 

My native clime : while, far above the flight 

Of Fancy's plume aspiring, I unlock 

The springs of ancient wisdom ; while I join coo 

Thy name, thrice honour'd ! with the immortal praise 

Of Nature ; while to my compatriot youth 

I point the high example of thy sons, 

And tune to Attic themes the British lyre. 



140 THE PLEASURES OF 



BOOK II. 

ARGUMENT. 

The separation of the works of imagination from philosophy, the cause 
of their abuse among the moderns. Prospect of their re-union 
under the influence of public liberty. Enumeration of accidental 
pleasures, which increase the effect of objects delightful to the 
imagination. The pleasures of sense. Particular circumstances of 
the mind. Discovery of truth. Perception of contrivance and de- 
sign. Emotion of the passions. All the natural passions partake 
of a pleasing sensation ; with the final cause of this constitution 
illustrated by an allegorical vision, and exemplified in sorrow, pity, 
terror, and indignation. 

"When shall the laurel and the vocal string 
Resume their honours ? When shall we behold 
The tuneful tongue, the Promethean hand 
Aspire to ancient praise ? Alas ! how faint, 
How slow the dawn of Beauty and of Truth 
Breaks the reluctant shades of Gothic night 
"Which yet involve the nations ! Long they groan'd 
Beneath the furies of rapacious force. 
Oft as the gloomy north, with iron swarms 
Tempestuous pouring from her frozen caves, lo 
Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works 
Of Liberty and Wisdom down the gulph 
Of all-devouring night. As long immur'd 
In noontide darkness by the glimmering lamp. 
Each Muse and each fair Science pin'd away 
The sordid hours ; while foul, barbarian hands 
Their mysteries profan'd, unstrung the lyre, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 141 

And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth. 

At hist the Muses rose, and spurn'd their bonds, 

And, wihily warbHng, scatter'd, as they flew, 20 

Their blooming wreatiis from fair Valclusa's bowers 

To Arno's myrtle border and the shore 

Of soft Parthenope. But still the rage 

Of dire ambition and gigantic power, 

From public aims and from the busy walk 

Of civil commerce, drove the bolder train 

Of penetrating Science to the cells. 

Where studious Ease consumes the silent hour 

In shadowy searches and unfruitful care. 

Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts » 

Of mimic fancy and Jiarmonious joy. 

To priestly domination and the lust 

Of lawless courts, their amiable toil 

For three inglorious ages have resign'd. 

In vain reluctant ; and Torquato's tongue 

Was tun'd for slavish paeans at the throne 

Of tinsel pomp ; and Raphael's magic hand 

Effus'd its fair creation to enchant 

The fond adoring herd in Latian fanes 

To blind belief; while on their prostrate necks *o 

The sable tyrant plants his heel secure. 

But now, behold! the radiant era dawns, 

When freedom s ample fabric, fix'd at length 

For endless years on Albion's happy shore 

In full proportion, once more shall extend 

To all the kindred powers of social bliss 

A common mansion, a parental roof. 



142 THE PLEASURES OP 

There shall the Virtues, there shall Wisdom's train, 

Their long-lost friends rejoining, as of old. 

Embrace the smiling family of Arts, eo 

The Muses and the Graces. Then no more 

Shall Vice, distracting their delicious gifts 

To aims abhorr'd, with high distaste and scorn 

Turn from their charms the philosophic eye, 

The patriot bosom ; then no more the paths 

Of public care or intellectual toil, 

Alone by footsteps haughty and severe 

In gloomy state be trod : the harmonious Muse 

And her persuasive sisters then shall plant 

Their sheltering laurels o'er the bleak ascent, eo 

And scatter flowers along the rugged way. 

Arm'd with the lyre, already have we dard 

To pierce divine Philosophy's retreats, 

And teach the Muse her lore ; already strove 

Their long-divided honours to unite, 

While tempering this deep argument we sang 

Of Truth and Beauty. Now the same glad task 

Impends ; now urging our ambitious toil. 

We hasten to recount the various springs 

Of adventitious pleasure, which adjoin to 

Their grateful influence to the prime effect 

Of objects grand or beauteous, and enlarge 

The complicated joy. The sweets of sense, 

Do they not oft with kind accession flow. 

To raise harmonious Fancy's native charm ? 

So while we taste the fragrance of the rose, 

Glows not her blush the fairer ? While we view 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 143 

Amid the noontide walk a limpid rill 
Gush through the trickling herbage, to tlie thirst 
Of summer yielding the delicious draught so 

Of cool refreshment ; o'er the mossy brink 
Shines not the surface clearer, and the waves 
With sweeter music murmur as they flow ? 

Nor this alone : the various lot of life 
Oft from external circumstance assumes 
A moment's disposition to rejoice 
In those delights which at a different hour 
Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of Spring, 
When rural songs and odours wake the morn, 
To every eye ; but how much more to his 9o 

Round whom the bed of sickness long diffus'd 
Its melancholy gloom ! how doubly fair, 
When first with fresh-born vigour he inhales 
The balmy breeze, and feels the blessed .«un 
Warm at his bosom, from the springs of life 
Chasing oppressive damps and languid pain ! 

Or shall I mention, where celestial Truth 
Her awful light discloses, to bestow 
A more majestic pomp on Beauty's frame? 
For man loves knowledge, and the beams of Truth 
More welcome touch his understanding's eye, loi 
Than all the blandishments of sound his ear, 
Than all of taste his tongue. Nor ever yet 
Tlie melting rainbow's vernal-tinctur'd hues 
To nie have shown so pleasing, as when first 
The hand of Science pointed out the path 
In which the sunbeams gleaming from the west 



144 THE PLEASURES OF 

Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil 
Involves the orient; and that trickling shower 
Piercing through every crystalline convex "o 

Of clustering dewdrops to their flight oppos'd, 
Recoil at length where concave all behind 
The internal surface of each glassy orb 
Repels their forward passage into air ; 
That thence direct they seek the radiant goal 
From which their course began ; and as they strike 
In different lines the gazer's obvious eye, 
Assume a different lustre, through the brede 
Of colours changing from the splendid rose 
To the pale violet's dejected hue. 120 

Or shall we touch that kind access of joy, 
That springs to each fair objeit, while we trace, 
Through all its fabric, Wisdom's artful aim 
Disposing every part, and gaining still 
By means proportion'd her benignant end ? 
Speak ye the pure delight, whose favour'd steps 
The lamp of Science through the jealous maze 
Of Nature guides, when haply you reveal 
Her secret honours ; whether in the sky. 
The beauteous laws of light, the central powers 
That wheel the pensile planets round the year ; 
Whether in wonders of the rolling deep, 133 

Or the rich fruits of all-sustaining earth. 
Or fine-adjusted springs of life and sense, 
Ye scan the counsels of their Author's hand. 

What, when to raise the meditated scene. 
The flame of passion, through the struggling soul 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 145 

Deep-kindled, shows across that sudden blaze 

The object of its rapture, vast of size, 

With fiercer colours and a night of shade ? i40 

What ? like a storm from their capacious bed 

The sounding seas o'erwhelming, when the might 

Of these eruptions, working from the depth 

Of man's strong apprehension, shakes bis frame 

Even to the base ; from every naked sense 

Of pain or pleasure dissipating all 

Opinion's feeble coverings, and the veil 

Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times 

To hide the feeling heart ? Then Nature speaks 

Her genuine language, and the words of men, iso 

Big with the very motion of their souls. 

Declare with w^hat accumulated force. 

The impetuous nerve of passion urges on 

The native weight and energy of things. 

Yet more : her honours where nor Beauty claims, 
Nor shows of good the thirsty sense allure, 
From passion's power alone our nature holds 
Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse 
Rouses the mind's whole fabric ; with supplies 
Of daily impulse keeps the elastic powers iso 

Intensely pois'd, and polishes anew 
By that collision all the fine machine : 
Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees 
Incumbering, choke at last what Heaven design'd 
For ceaseless motion and a round of toil. 
— But say, does every passion thus to man 
Administer delight ? That name indeed 



146 THE PLEASURES OF 

Becomes the rosy breath of love ; becomes 

The radiant smiles of joy, the applauding hand 

Of admiration : but the bitter shower iro 

That sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave ; 

But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear, 

Or those consuming fires that gnaw the heart 

Of panting indignation, find we there 

To move delight ? — Then listen while my tongue 

The unalter'd will of Heaven with faithful awe 

Reveals ; what old Ilarmodius wont to teach 

My early age ; Ilarmodius, who had weigh'd 

Within his learned mind whate'er the schools 

Of Wisdom, or thy lonely-whispering voice, lao 

O faithful Nature ! dictate of the laws 

Which govern and support this mighty frame 

Of universal being. Oft the hours 

From morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away, 

While mute attention hung upon his lips. 

As thus the sage his awful tale began : 

" 'Twas in the windings of an ancient wood, 
When spotless youth with solitude resigns 
To sweet philosophy the studious ^ay. 
What time pale Autumn shades the silent eve, 190 
Musing I rov'd. Of good and evil much. 
And much of mortal man my thought revolv'd ; 
When starting full on fancy's gushing eye 
The mournful image of Parthenia's fate. 
That hour, long belov'd and long deplor'd ! 
When blooming youth, nor gentlest wisdom's arts, 
Nor Hymen's honours gather'd for thy brow, 



IMAGINATION. . BOOK II. 147 

Nor all thy lover's, all thy father's tears 

Aval I'd to snatch thee from the cruel grave ; 

Thy agonizing looks, thy last farewell, 200 

Struck to the inmost ieeling of my soul 

As with the hand of Deatli. At once the shade 

JMore horrid nodded o'er me, and the winds 

With hoarser murmuring shook the branches. Dark 

As midnight storms, the scene of human things 

Appear'd before me ; deserts, burning sands, 

Where the parch'd adder dies ; the frozen south, 

And desolation blasting all the west 

With rapine and with murder : tyrant power 

Here sits enthron'd with blood ; the baleful charms 

Of superstition there infect the skies, 2n 

And turn the sun to horror. Gracious Heaven! 

What is the life of man ? Or cannot these, 

Not these portents thy awful will suffice ? 

That, propagated thus beyond their scope, 

They rise to act their cruelties anew 

In my afflicted bosom, thus decreed 

The universal sensitive of pain. 

The wretched heir of evils not its own ! " 

Thus I impatient ; when, at once effus'd, 220 

A flashing torrent of celestial day 
Burst through the shadowy void. With slow descent 
A purple cloud came floating through the sky. 
And pois'd at length within the circling trees. 
Hung obvious to my view; till opening wide 
Its lucid orb, a more than human form 
Emerging lean'd majestic o'er my head, 



148 THE PLEASURES OP 

And instant thunder shook the conscious grove. 
Then meUed into air the liquid cloud, 
And all the shining vision stood reveal'd. 230 

A wreath of pahn his ample forehead bound, 
And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee, 
Flow'd the transparent robe, around his waist 
Collected with a radiant zone of gold 
Ethereal : there in mystic signs engrav'd, 
I read his ofRce high and sacred name, 
Genius of human kind ! Appall'd I gaz'd 
The godlike presence ; for athwart his brow 
Displeasure, temper'd with a mild concern, 
Look'd down reluctant on me, and his words 240 
Like distant thunders broke the murmuring air. 

" Vain are thy thoughts, child of mortal birth ! 
And impotent thy tongue. Is thy short span 
Capacious of this universal frame ? 
Thy wisdom all sufficient ? Thou, alas ! 
Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lord 
Of Nature and his works ? to lift thy voice 
Against the sovereign order he decreed, 
All good and lovely ? to blaspheme the bands 
Of tenderness innate and social love, 250 

Holiest of things ! by which the general orb • 
Of being, as by adamantine links. 
Was drawn to perfect union and sustain'd 
From everlasting ? Hast thou felt the pangs 
Of softening sorrow, of indignant zeal 
So grievous to the soul, as thence to wish 
The ties of Nature broken from thy frame ; 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 149 

That so thy selfish, unrelenting heart 
Might cease to mourn its lot, no longer then 
The wretched heir of evils not its own ? 260 

O fair benevolence of generous minds! 

man by Nature form'd for all mankind ! " 
He spoke : abash'd and silent I remain'd, 

As conscious of my tongue's offence, and aw'd 
Before his presence, though my secret soul 
Disdain'd the imputation. On the ground 

1 fix'd my eyes ; till from his airy couch 

He stoop'd sublime, and touching with his hand 
My dazzling forehead, " Raise thy sight," he cried, 
"And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue." 

I look'd, and lo ! the former scene was chang'd ; 
For verdant alleys and surrounding trees, £72 

A solitary prospect, wide and wild, 
Rush'd on my senses. 'Twas a horrid pile 
Of hills with many a shaggy forest mix'd, 
With many a sable cliff and glittering stream. 
Aloft recumbent o'er the hanging ridge, 
The brown woods wav'd ; while ever-trickling 

springs 
Wash'd from the naked roots of oak and pine 
The crumbling soil ; and still at every fall 280 

Down the steep windings of the channel'd rock, 
Remurmuring rush'd tlie congregated floods 
With hoarser inundation ; till at last 
They reach'd a grassy plain, which from the skirts 
Of that high desert spread her verdant lap, 
And drank the gushing moisture, where, confin'd 



150 THE PLEASURES OF 

In one smooth current, o'er tlic lilied vale 
Clearer than glass it (iow'd. Autumnal spoils 
Luxuriant spreading to the rays of morn, 
Blush'd o'er the elitfs, whose half-encircling mound 
As in a sylvan theatre enclos'd 293 

That flowery level. On the river's brink 
I spied a fair pavilion, which diffus'd 
Its floating umbrage 'mid the silver shade 
Of osiers. Now the western sun reveal'd 
Between two parting cliffs his golden orb, 
And pour'd across the shadow of the hills. 
On rocks and floods, a yellow stream of light 
That cheer'd the solemn scene. My listening 

powers 
Were aw'd, and every thought in silence hung, 300 
And wondering expectation. Then the voice 
Of that celestial power, the mystic show 
Declaring, thus my deep attention call'd : 
" Inhabitant of earth, io whom is given 
The gracious ways of Providence to learn. 
Receive my sayings with a steadfast ear: — 
Know then, the Sovereign Spirit of the world. 
Though, self-collected from eternal time, 
Within his own deep essence he beheld 
The bounds of true felicity complete; sio 

Yet, by immense benignity inclin'd 
To spread around him that primeval joy 
Which fill'd himself, he rais'd his plastic arm. 
And sounded through the hollow depths of space 
The strong, creative mandate. Straight arose 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 151 

These heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life, 

Effusive kindled by his breath divine 

Tlirough endless forms of being. Each inhal'd 

From him its portion of the vital flame, 

In measure such, that, from the wide complex s2o 

Of coexistent orders, one might rise, 

One order, all-involving and entire. 

He too beholding in the sacred light 

Of his essential reason, all the shapes 

Of swift contingence, all successive ties 

Of action propagated through the sum 

Of possible existence, he at once, 

Down the long series of eventful time, 

So fix'd the dates of being, so dispos'd 

To every living soul of every kind sso 

The field of motion and the hour of rest, 

That all conspir'd to his supreme design, 

To universal good : with full accord 

Answering the mighty model he had chose, 

The best and fairest of unnumber'd worlds 

That lay from everlasting in the store 

Of his divine conceptions. Nor content. 

By one exertion of creative power 

His goodness to reveal; through every age. 

Through every moment up the tract of time, 340 

His parent hand with ever new increase 

Of happiness and virtue has adorn'd 

The vast harmonious frame : his parent hand. 

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, 

To men, to angels, to celestial minds 



152 THE PLEASURES OF 

For ever leads tlic generations on 
To higher scenes of being ; -while, supplied 
From day to day with his enlivening breath, 
Inferior orders in succession rise 
To fill the void below. As flame ascends, mo 

As bodies to their proper centre move. 
As the pois'd ocean to the attracting moon 
Obedient swells, and every headlong stream 
Devolves its winding waters to the main ; 
So all things which have life aspire to God, 
The sun of being, boundless, unimpair'd, 
Centre of souls ! Nor does the faithful voice 
Of Nature cease to prompt their eager steps 
Aright ; nor is the care of Heaven withheld 
From granting to the task proportion'd aid ; seo 
That in their stations all may persevere 
To climb the ascent of being, and approach 
For ever nearer to the life divine. 

" That rocky pile thou seest, that verdant lawn 
Fresh-water'd from the mountains. Let the scene 
Paint in thy fancy the primeval seat 
Of man, and where the Will Supreme ordain'd 
His mansion, that pavilion fair-diffus'd 
Along the shady brink ; in this recess 
To wear the appointed season of his youth, sro 

Till riper hours should open to his toil 
The high communion of superior minds, 
Of consecrated heroes and of gods. 
Nor did the Sire Omnipotent forget 
His tender bloom to cherish ; nor withheld 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 153 

Celestial footsteps from his green abode. 

Oft from the radiant honours of his throne, 

He sent whom most he lov'd, the sovereign fair, 

The effluence of his glory, whom he plac'd 

Before his eyes for ever to behold ; sso 

The goddess from whose inspiration flows 

Tiie toil of patriots, the deliglit of friends ; 

Without whose work divine, in heaven or earth, 

Nought lovely, nought propitious comes to pass, 

Nor hope nor praise nor honour. Her the Sire 

Gave it in charge to rear the blooming mind. 

The folded powers to open, to direct 

The growth luxuriant of his young desires. 

And from the laws of this majestic world 

To teach him what was good. As thus the nymph 

Her daily care attended, by her side 391 

With constant steps her gay companion stay'd, 

The fair Euphrosyne, the gentle queen 

Of smiles, and graceful gladness,, and delights 

That cheer alike the hearts of mortal men 

And powers immortal. See the shining pair ! 

Behold, where from his dwelling now disclos'd 

They quit their youthful charge and seek the skies." 

I look'd, and on the flowery turf there stood. 
Between two radiant forms, a smiling youth 400 
Whose tender cheeks display'd the vernal flower 
Of beauty ; sweetest innocence illum'd 
His bashful eyes, and on his polish'd brow 
Sate young simplicity. AVith fond regard. 
He view'd the associates, as their steps they mov'd ; 

L 



154 THE PLEASURES OF 

The younger chief his ardent eyes detain'd, 
With mild regret invoking her return. 
Bright as the star of evening she appear'd 
Amid the dusky scene. Eternal youth 
O'er all her form its glowing honours breath'd ; 
And smiles eternal from her candid eyes fli 

Flow'd, like the dewy lustre of the morn 
P2fFusive trembling on the placid Avaves. 
The spring of heaven had shed its blushing spoils 
To bind her sable tresses ; full diffus'd, 
Her yellow mantle floated in the breeze ; 
And in her hand she wav'd a living branch 
Rich with immortal fruits, of power to calm 
The wrathful heart, and from the bi'ightening eyes 
To chase the cloud of sadness. More sublime 420 
The heavenly partner mov'd. The prime of age 
Compos'd her steps. The presence of a god, 
High on the circle of her brow cnthron'd, 
From each majestic motion darted awe, 
Devoted awe ! till, cherish'd by her looks 
Benevolent and meek, confiding love 
To filial rapture soften'd all the soul. 
Free in her graceful hand she pois'd the sword 
Of chaste dominion. An heroic crown 
Display'd the old simplicity of pomp ^ 

Around her honour'd head. A matron's robe, 
White as the sunshine streams thro' vernal clouds, 
Her stately form invested. Hand in hand 
The immortal pair forsook the enamel'd green, 
Ascending slowly. Rays of limpid light 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 155 

Gleam'd round their path ; celestial sounds were 

heard, 
And through the fragrant air ethereal dews 
Distill'd around them ; till at once the clouds, 
Disparting wide in midway sky, withdrew 
Their airy veil, and left a bright expanse *« 

Of empyrean flame, where, spent and drown'd, 
Afflicted vision plung'd in vain to scan 
"What object it involv'd. My feeble eyes 
Endur'd not. Bending down to earth I stood, 
With dumb attention. Soon a female voice. 
As watery murmurs sweet, or warbling shades, 
With sacred invocation thus began : 

" Father of gods and mortals ! whose right arm 
With reins eternal guides the moving heavens. 
Bend thy propitious ear. Behold well pleas'd 430 
I seek to finish thy divine decree. 
With frequent steps I visit yonder seat 
Of man, thy offspring ; from the tender seeds 
Of justice and of wisdom, to evolve 
The latent honours of his generous frame ; 
Till thy conducting hand shall raise his lot 
From earth's dim scene to these ethereal walks, 
The temple of thy glory. But not me. 
Not my directing voice he oft requires. 
Or hears delighted ; this enchanting maid, 4bo 

The associate thou hast given me, her alone 
lie loves, O Fatlier ! absent, her he craves ; 
And but for her glad presence ever joined, 
Rejoices not in mine ; that all my hopes 



156 THE PLEASURES OF 

This thy benignant purpose to fulfil, 
I deem uncertain ; and my daily cares 
Unfruitful all and vain, unless by thee 
Still farther aided in the work divine." 

She ceas'd : a voice more awful thus replied : 
" O thou ! in whom for ever 1 delight, 470 

Fairer than all the inhabitants of heaven. 
Best image of thy Author ! far from thee 
Be disappointment or distaste or blame ; 
Who soon or late shalt every work fulfil, 
And no resistance find. If man refuse 
To hearken to thy dictates ; or, allur'd 
By meaner joys, to any other power 
Transfer the honors due to thee alone ; 
That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste, 
That power in whom delighteth ne'er behold. 480 
Go then, once more, and happy be thy toil : 
Go then ! but let not this thy smiling friend 
Partake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold ! 
With thee the son of Nemesis I send; 
The fiend abhorr'd ! whose vengeance takes account 
Of sacred order's violated laws. 
See where he calls thee, burning to be gone, 
Fierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath 
On yon devoted head. But thou, my child, 
Control his cruel frenzy, and protect 490 

Thy tender charge ; that, when despair shall grasp 
His agonizing bosom, he may learn. 
Then he may learn to love the gracious hand 
Alone sufficient in the hour of ill 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 157 

To save liis feeble spirit ; then confess 

Thy genuine honours, O excelling fair ! 

When all the plagues that wait the deadly will 

Of this avenging demon, all the storms 

Of night infernal, serve but to display 

The energy of thy superior charms fioo 

With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage, 

And shining clearer in the horrid gloom." 

Here ceas'd that awful voice ; and soon I felt 
The cloudy curtain of refreshing eve 
Was clos'd once more, from that immortal fire 
Sheltering my eye-lids. Looking up, I view'd 
A vast, gigantic spectre striding on 
Thro' murmuring thunders and a waste of clouds. 
With dreadful action. Black as night, his brow 
Relentless frowns involv'd. His savage limbs mo 
With sharp impatience violent he writh'd. 
As through convulsive anguish ; and his hand, 
Arm'd with a scorpion lash, full oft he rais'd 
In madness to his bosom ; while his eyes 
Rain'd bitter tears, and bellowing loud he shook 
The void with horror. Silent by his side 
The virgin came. No discomposure stirr'd 
Her features. From the glooms which hung around, 
No stain of darkness mingled with the beam 
Of her divine effulgence. Now they stoop 520 

Upon the river bank ; and now to hail 
His wonted guests, with eager steps advanc'd 
The unsuspecting inmate of the shade. 

As when a famish'd wolf, that all night long 



158 THE PLEASURES OF 

Had rang'd the Alpine snows, by chance at morn 
Sees from a cliff, incumbent o'er the smoke 
Of some lone village, a neglected kid 
That strays along the wild for herb or spring ; 
Down from the winding ridge he sweeps amain, 
And thinks he tears him : so, with tenfold rage, sao 
The monster sprung remorseless on his prey. 
Amaz'd the stripling stood : with panting breast 
Feebly he pour'd the lamentable wail 
Of helpless consternation, struck at once, 
And rooted to the ground. Tlie Queen beheld 
His terror, and with looks of tenderest care 
Advanc'd to save him. Soon the tyrant felt 
Her awful power. His keen, tempestuous arm 
Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage 
Had aim'd the deadly blow ; then dumb retir'd mo 
"With sullen rancour. Lo ! the sovereign maid 
Folds with a mother's arms the fainting boy. 
Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek ; [tongue : 

Then grasps his hands, and cheers him with her 
" O wake thee, rouse thy spirit ! Shall the 5pite 
Of yon tormentor thus appal thy heart, 
"While I, thy friend and guardian, am at hand 
To rescue and to heal ? O let thy soul 
Remember, what the will of Heaven ordains 
Is ever good for all ; and if for all, oo 

Then good for thee. Nor only by the warmth 
And soothing sunshine of delightful things. 
Do minds grow up and flourish. Oft misled 
By that bland light, the young, unpractis'd views 



IMA.GINATION. BOOK II. 159 

Of reason wander through a fatal road, 

Far from their native aim ; as if to lie 

Inglorious in the fragrant shade, and wait 

The soft access of ever-circling joys. 

Were all the end of being. Ask thyself. 

This pleasing error did it never lull «eo 

Thy wishes ? Has thy constant heart refus'd 

The silken fetters of delicious ease? 

Or wlien divine P^uphrosyne appear'd 

AVithin this dwelling, did not thy desires 

Plang far below the measure of thy fate, 

Which I reveal'd before thee? and thy eyes, 

Impatient of my counsels, turn away 

To drink the soft effusion of her smiles ? 

Know then, for this the everlasting Sire 

Depri,ves thee of her presence, and instead, fi7o 

O wise and still benevolent ! ordains 

This horrid visage hither to pursue 

My steps; that so thy nature may discern 

Its real good, and what alone can save 

Thy feeble spirit in this hour of ill 

From folly and despair. O yet belov'd ! 

Let not this headlong terror quite o'erwhelm 

Thy scatter'd powers ; nor fatal deem the rage 

Of this tormentor, nor his proud assault. 

While I am here to vindicate thy toil, «o 

Above the generous question of thy arm. 

Brave by thy fears, and in thy weakness strong, 

This hour he triumphs; but confront his might, 

And dare him to the combat, then with ease 



160 THE PLEASURES OP 

Disarm'd and quell'd, liis fierceness he resigns 

To bondage and to scorn ; Aviiile thus inur'd 

By watchful danger, by unceasing toil, 

The immortal mind, superior to his fate, 

Amid the outrage of external things. 

Firm as the solid base of this great world, «90 

Rests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds ! 

Ye waves ! ye thunders ! roll your tempest on ; 

Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky ! 

Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire 

Be loosen'd from their seats ; yet still serene. 

The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck ; 

And ever stronger as the storms advance. 

Firm through the closing ruin holds his way, 

Where Nature calls him to the destin'd goal." 

So spake the goddess ; while through all her frame 
Celestial raptures flow'd, in every word, 6oi 

In every motion, kindling warmth divine 
To seize who listen'd. Vehement and swift 
As liditninjT; fires the aromatic shade 
In -(Ethiopian fields, the stripling felt 
Her inspiration catch his fervid soul. 
And, starting from his languor, thus exclaim'd : 

" Then let the trial come ! and witness thou, 
If terror be upon me ; if I shrink 
To meet the storm, or falter in my strength eio 
When hardest it besets me. Do not think 
That I am fearful and infirm of soul, 
As late thy eyes beheld : for thou hast chang'd 
My nature ; thy commanding voice has wak'd 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 161 

My languid powers to bear me boldly on, 

Where'er the will divine my path ordains 

Through toil or peril : only do not thou 

Forsake me ; O be thou for ever near, 

That I may listen to thy sacred voice. 

And guide by thy decrees my constant feet. 620 

But say, for ever are my eyes bereft ? 

Say, shall the fair Euphrosyne not once 

Appear again to charm me ? Thou, in heaven ! 

O thou eternal arbiter of things ! 

Be thy great bidding done ; for who am I, 

To question thy appointment ? Let the frowns 

Of this avenger every morn o'ercast 

The cheerful dawn, and every evening damp 

With double night my dwelling ; I will learn 

To haijl them both, and unrepining bear eso 

His hateful presence : but permit my tongue 

One glad request ; and if my deeds may lind 

Tliy awful eye propitious, O restore 

The rosy-fcatur'd maid ; again to cheer 

This lonely seat, and bless me with her smiles." 

He spoke ; when instant through the sable glooms 
With which that furious presence had involv'd 
The ambient air, a flood of radiance came 
Swift as the lightning flash ; the melting clouds 
Flew diverse, and, amid the blue serene, 640 

Euphrosyne appear'd. With sprightly step 
The nymph alighted on the irriguous lawn, 
And to her wondering audience thus began: 

" Lo ! I am here to answer to your vows, 



1G2 THE PLEASURES OF 

And be the meeting fortunate ! I come 
AVith joyful tidings ; we shall part no more — 
Hark ! how the gentle echo from her cell 
Talks through the cliffs, and, murmuring o'er the 

stream, 
Repeats the accents ; we shall part no more. 
O my delightful friends ! well pleas'd on high sso 
The Father has beheld you, while the might 
Of that stern foe with bitter trial prov'd 
Your equal doings : then for ever spake 
The high decree ; that thou, celestial maid i 
Howe'er that grisly phantom on thy steps 
May sometimes dare intrude, yet never more 
Shalt thou, descending to the abode of man, 
Alone endure the rancour of his arm, 
Or leave thy lov'd Euphrosyne behind." 

She ended ; and the whole romantic scene eeo 
Immediate vanish'd ; rocks and woods and rills, 
The mantling tent, and each mysterious form, 
Flew like the pictures of a morning dream, 
AVhen sunshine fills the bed. Awhile I stood 
Perplex'd and giddy ; till the radiant power 
Who bade the visionary landscape rise, 
As up to him I turn'd, with gentlest looks 
Preventing my inquiry, thus began : 

" There let thy soul acknowledge its complaint 
How blind, how impious ! There behold the ways 
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man, sri 

For ever just, benevolent, and wise : 
That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursued 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 163 

By vexing fortune and intrusive pain, 
Sliould never be divided from her ciiaste, 
Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I urge 
Thy tardy thought through all the various round 
Of this existence, that thy softening soul 
At length may learn what energy the hand 
Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide c8o 

Of passion swelling with distress and pain. 
To mitigate the sharp with gracious drops 
Of cordial pleasure ? Ask the faithful youth, 
Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd 
So often fills his arms ; so often draws 
His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears? 
O! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds 
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego ess 

That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise 
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes 
"With virtue's kindest looks his aching breast. 
And turns his tears to rapture. Ask the crowd 
Which flies impatient from the village walk 
To climb the nei^rhbourin^j cliffs, when far below 
The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coast 
Some helpless bark; while sacred Pity melts 
The general eye, or Terror's icy hand 
Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair; 
While every mother closer to her breast 700 

Catches her child, and, pointing where the waves 
Foam t.hrough the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud 
As one poor wretch that spreads his piteous arms 



164 THE PLEASURES OF 

For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge, 

As now another, dash'd against the rock. 

Drops lifeless down : O ! deemest thou indeed 

No kind endearment here by Nature given 

To mutual terror and compassion's tears ? 

No sweetly melting softness which attracts, 

O'er all that edge of pain, the social powers no 

To this their proper action and their end ? 

— Ask thy own heart, when, at the midnight hour, 

Slow through that studious gloom thy pausing eye, 

Led by the glimmering taper, moves around 

The sacred volumes of the dead, the songs 

Of Grecian bards, and records writ by Fame 

For Grecian heroes, where the present power 

Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page. 

Even as a father blessing, while he reads 

The praises of his son. If then thy soul, m 

Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days. 

Mix in their deeds, and kindle with their flame ; 

Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view. 

When rooted from the base, heroic states 

Mourn in the dust, and tremble at the frown 

Of curst ambition ; when the pious band 

Of youths, who fought for freedom and their sires. 

Lie side by side in gore ; when ruffian pride 

Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp 

Of public power, the majesty of rule, rao 

The sword, tlie laurel, and the purple robe. 

To slavish, empty pageants, to adorn 

A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 165 

Of sucli as bow the knee ; when honour'd urns 

Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust 

And storied arch, to glut the coward rage 

Of regal envy, strew the public way 

With liallow'd ruins ; when the Muse's haunt, 

Tlie marble porch where "Wisdom wont to talk 

With Socrates or TuUy, hears no more, 740 

Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks, 

Or female Superstition's midnight prayer ; 

When ruthless Rapine from the hand of Time 

Tears the destroying scythe, with surer blow 

To sweep the works of glory from their base ; 

Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street 

Expands his raven wings, and up the wall, 

Where senates once the price of monarchs doom'd, 

Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weeds 749 

That clasp the mouldering column ; thus defac'd. 

Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrills 

Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear 

Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm 

In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove 

To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow, 

Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ; 

Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste 

Tlie big distress ? Or would'st thou then exchange 

Tiiose heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot 

Of him who sits amid tlie gaudy herd reo 

Of mute barbarians bending to his nod. 

And bears aloft his gold-invested front. 

And says within himself, * I am a king, 



166 THE PLEASURES OP 

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe 
Intrude upon mine car?' The baleful dregs 
Of these late ages, this inglorious draught 
Of servitude and folly, have not yet, 
Blest be the eternal Ruler of the world ! 
Defil'd to such a depth of sordid shame 
The native honours of the human soul, no 

Nor so effac'd the image of its Sire." 



BOOK III. 



ARGUMENT. 

Pleasure in observing the tempers and manners of men, even where 
Ticious or absurd. The origin of vice, from false representatijns 
of the fancy, producing false opinions concerning good and evil. 
Inquiry into ridicule. The general sources of ridicule in the minds 
and characters of men enumerated. Final cause of the sense of 
ridicule. The resemblance of certain aspects of inanimate things 
to the sensations and properties of the mind. The operations of 
the mind in the production of the works of imagination described. 
The secondary pleasure from imitation. The benevolent order of 
the world illustrated in the arbitrary connexion of these pleasures 
with the objects which excite them. The nature and conduct of 
taste. Concluding with an account of the natural and mora, 
advantages resulting from a sensible and well-formed imagination. 

What wonder, therefore, since the endearing ties 
Of passion link the universal kind 
Of man so close, what wonder if to search 
This common nature through the various change 
Of sex and age and fortune, and the frame 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 167 

Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind 

With unresisted charms ? The spacious west, 

And all the teeming regions of the south, 

Hold not a quarry, to tiie curious flight 

Of Knowledge, half so tempting or so fair, lo 

As man to man. Nor only where the smiles 

Of Love invite ; nor only where the applause 

Of cordial Honour turns the attentive eye 

On Virtue's graceful deeds. For since the course 

Of things external acts in different ways 

On human apprehensions, as the hand 

Of Nature temper'd to a different frame 

Peculiar minds ; so haply where the powers 

Of Fancy neither lessen nor enlarge 

The images of things, but paint in all » 

Their genuine hues, the features which they wore 

In Nature; there Opinion will be true, 

And Action right. For Action treads the path 

In which Opinion says he follows good. 

Or flies from evil ; and Opinion gives 

Report of good or evil, as the scene 

Was drawn by Fancy, lovely or deform'd : 

Thus her report can never there be true 

Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye, 

With glaring colours and distorted lines. to 

Is there a man, who, at the sound of death. 

Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjur'd up. 

And black before him ; nought but dcjithbed groans 

And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink 

Of light and being, down the gloomy air, 



168 THE PLEASURES OP 

An unknown dcptli ? Alas ! in such a mind, 

If no bright forms of excellence attend 

Tlie image of his country ; nor the pomp 

Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice 

Of Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes 40 

The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame ; 

Will not Opinion tell him, that to die, 

Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill 

Than to betray his country ? And in act 

Will he not choose to be a wretch and live ? 

Here vice begins then. From the enchanting cup 

Which Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst 

Of youth oft swallows a Circoean draught. 

That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye 

Of Reason, till no longer he discerns, » 

And only guides to err. Then revel forth 

A furious band that spurn him from the throne; 

And all is uproar. Thus Ambition grasps 

Tiie empire of the soul; thus pale Revenge 

Unsheaths her murderous dagger ; and the hands 

Of Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts, 

Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the laws 

That keeps them from their prey: thus all the 

plagues 
The wicked bear, or o'er the trembling scene 
The tragic Muse discloses, under shapes eo 

Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp, 
Stole first into the mind. Yet not by all 
Those lying forms which Fancy in the brain 
Engenders are the kindling passions driven 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 169 

To guilty deeds ; nor Reason bound in chains, 

That Vice alone may lord it : oft adorn'd 

With solemn pageants, Folly mounts the throne, 

And plays her idiot antics, like a queen. 

A thousand garbs she wears ; a thousand ways 

She wheels her giddy empire. — Lo ! thus far 7o 

With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyre 

I sing of Nature's charm, and touch well pleas'd 

A stricter note : now haply must my song 

Unbend her serious measure, and reveal. 

In lighter strains, how Folly's awkward arts 

Excite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke ; 

The sportive province of the comic Muse. 

See ! in what crowds the uncouth forms advance : 
Each would outstrip the other, each prevent 
Our careful search, and offer to your gaze, so 

Unask'd, his motley features. Wait awhile, 
My curious friends ! and let us first arrange 
In proper order your promiscuous throng. 

Behold the foremost band ; of slender thought. 
And easy faith ; whom flattering Fancy soothes 
With lying spectres, in themselves to view 
Illustrious forms of excellence and good. 
That scorn the mansion. With exulting hearts 
They spread their spurious treasures to the sun, 
And bid the world admire ! but chief the glance 
Of wishful Envy draws their joy-bright eyes, »i 
And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow. 
In number boundless as the blooms of Spring, 
Behold their glaring idols, empty shades 

M 



170 THE PLEASURES OP 

By Fancy gilded o'er, and then set up 

For adoration. Some in Learning's garb, 

With formal band, and sable-cinctur'd gown, 

And rags of mouldy volumes. Some elate 

With martial splendour, steely pikes and swords 

Of costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes loc 

Inwrought with flowery gold, assume the port 

Of stately Valour : listening by his side, 

There stands a female form ; to her. with looks 

Of earnest import, pregnant with amaze, 

He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms, 

And sulphurous mines, and ambush ; then at once 

Breaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale. 

And asks some wondering question of her fears. 

Others of graver mien ; behold, adorn'd 

With holy ensigns, how sublime they move, no 

And, bending oft their sanctimonious eyes, 

Take homage of the simple-minded throng ; 

Ambassadors of Heaven ! Nor much unlike 

Is he whose visage, in the lazy mist 

That mantles every feature, hides a brood 

Of politic conceits ; of whispers, nods, 

And hints deep omen'd with unwieldy schemes. 

And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more. 

Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues, 

Pour dauntless in, and swell the boastful band. 120 

Then comes the second order ; all who seek 
The debt of praise, where watchful Unbelief 
Darts through the thin pretence her squinting eye 
On some retir'd appearance which belies 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 171 

The boasted virtue, or annuls the applause 

Tliat justice else would i)ay. Here, side by side, 

I see two leaders of the solemn train 

Approaching: one a female, old and gray, 

Willi eyes demure, and wrinkle-furrow'd brow, 

Pale as the cheeks of death ; yet still she stuns 

The sickening audience with a nauseous tale ; m 

How many youths her myrtle chains have worn, 

How many virgins at her triumphs pin'd ! 

Yet how resolv'd she guards her cautious heart; 

Such is her terror at the risks of love, 

And man's seducing tongue ! The other seems 

A bearded sage, ungentle in his mien, 

And sordid all his habit ; peevish Want 

Grins at his heels, while down the gazing throng 

He stalks, resounding in magnific praise i40 

The vanity of riches, the contempt 

Of pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal, 

Ye grave associates ! let the silent grace 

Of her who blushes at the fond regard 

Her charms inspire, more eloquent unfold 

The praise of spotless honour : let the man 

Whose eye regards not his illustrious pomp 

And ample store, but as indulgent streams 

To cheer the barren soil and spread the fruits 

Of joy, let him by juster measures fix iso 

The price of riches and the end of power. 

Another tribe succeeds ; deluded long 
By Fancy's dazzling optics, these behold 
The images of some peculiar things 



172 THE PLEASURES OP 

With brighter hues resplendent, and portray'd 
With features nobler far than e'er adorn'd 
Their genuine objects. Hence the fever'd heart 
Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms; 
Hence oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn, 
Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays ! 100 

And serious manhood from the towering aim 
Of wisdom, stoops to emulate the boast 
Of childish toil. Behold yon mystic form, 
Bedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells ! 
Not with intenser view the Saraian sage 
Bent his fix'd eye on heaven's intenser fires, 
Wlien first the order of that radiant scene 
Svvell'd his exulting thought, than tliis surveys 
A muckworm's entrails or a spider's fang. 
Next him a youth, with flowers and myrtles crown'd, 
Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels, 
With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue, 
To win her coy regard : adieu, for him, m 

Tlie dull engagements of the bustling world ! 
Adieu the sick impertinence of praise ! 
And hope, and action ! for with her alone, 
By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours, 
Is all he asks, and all that fate can give ! 
Thee too, facetious Momion, wandering here, 
Tliee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheld iso 

Bewilder'd unawares ; alas ! too long 
Flush'd with thy comic triumphs and the spoils 
Of sly derision ! till on every side 
Hurling thy random bolts, offended Truth 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 173 

Assign'd thee here thy station Avith the slaves 

Of Folly. Thy once formidable name 

Shall grace her humble records, and be heard 

In scoffs and mockery bandied from the lips 

Of all the vengeful brotherhood around, 

So oft the patient victims of thy scorn. 190 

But now, ye gay ! to whom indulgent fate, 
Of all the Muse's empire hath assign'd 
The fields of folly, hither each advance 
Your sickles; here the teeming soil affords 
Its richest growth. A favourite brood appears ; 
In whom the demon, with a mother's joy, 
Views all her charms reflected, all her cares 
At full repaid. Ye most illustrious band ! 
Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules. 
And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant 200 

For souls sublime as yours, with generous zeal 
Pay Vice the reverence Virtue long usurp'd, 
And yield Deformity the fond applause 
AVhich Beauty wont to claim ; forgive my song, 
That for the blusliing diffidence of youth. 
It shuns the unequal province of your praise. 

Thus far triumphant in the pleasing guile 
Of bland Imagination, Folly's train 
Have dar'd our search : but now a dastard kind 
Advance reluctant, and with faltering feet 210 

Shrink from the gazer's eye ; enfeebled hearts 
Whom Fancy chills with visionary fears. 
Or bends to servile tameness with conceits 
Of shame, of evil, or of base defect, 



174 rm' ri.i.ASUK'KS ok 

l<\'iti(Mslic Miitl »l<'Iii:i\('. IliMT lln> sImv<< 

AVIlo ^Iroops nliM'-liM nvImmi sullen IN»m|» surveys 

His humbler luibil ; lieic^ flie (renibliu^ wrok'li 

IJniKU'vM i\\u\ slruck wiili Triior'H icy boltH, 

Spent in \v<'Mk \\ Milin;;s, (h'owuM in slunneCul (eiirs, 

.At eviiv <Ire.Min of «bni;j!;er: liere subibnd wn 

Hy iVonlless lau;;btei- nnd the bnnly seoin 

< )!' old, nnfeidini; vice, the sib'n>el soul, 

Who blusbiu;'; bnU' r<>si;;)is the «'nn(li<l junist* 

( )l" TeniperMntM^ miuI llonoui •; ball disouus 

A lre<>niMU*s hatred ol tyrannie pride; 

And hears wilii sickly sniiles tin* venal nioulh 

AVith IbuK'st license mock tin* |)al riot's name. 

Jwist of Iho motley bauds on whom the power 
Of gay Derision b<»nds her hostile aiu>, 
]s that where shanu'lul I;^u(n-anc(» presides. aio 

Ben<'ath her sordid banners, lo ! they march 
Like blind and bnnc. Whate'er their doubllul 

hands 
Attempt, ( 'oid'usion straiidit appeals behind, 
And troubles all the work, 'i'hro' many a maze, 
I'crplexM they stru^^lc, chan;;innj (<vcry path, 
( )'«rlurnin;; I'very purpose; then at lust 
Sit <lown di^mav'd, and leave the cnljiliglcd SCOnO 
i''(M- Scorn to sport with. Sin-h then is the abode 
or I*'olly in tln^ mind; and su(*h tln^ shape 
Jn which she govern^ her obsecpiious (rain. 

'J'hr(Mi<»;h every scene of ridicule in things 
'I'o le.ad (h(^ (enor of my devious hiy ; 
Tlirough evory swill occasion, whit h the hand 



:\ 

s 



IM A(JINA riON. IH)«)K III. 17/) 

Of TiMii;'li(('f |i(iiii(s :i(, wIm'ii (lie inirlliful Bting 
I )i>(rii(lM her sallyiii;!; nerves and <'li(tk«'.s h<'i't<»ii;^U(*; 
What \v<'j*(^ it Imt to ('(Mint eucli crystal iliop 
NVIiicli ]\IorMlii;^'H dewy (iii;^L»rH on tin- blooni.s 
or May distil? SulHcc it to have said, 
WIkm'cVt the power of Uidicuh; displays v^a 

IliT (juaiiit-eyed visuj^e, some iueon^iuoiis form, 
Some stubborn dissonance of* things conibin'd, 
Strikes on the quick observer: whether Pomp, 
Or Praise, or IJeauly, mix their partial claim 
Where sordi<l fashioiis, where ijLjnoble dcMtds, 
Where foul DeJoiiMity are wont to dwell ; 
Or whether these willi violation loath'd, 
Invade resplendent, l*oinj>'s iinpeiions mi(;n, 
'I'he <haiins of lieanty, <m- lh<t boast of I'laise. 
Ask w<! for what fair end tint Alini^iihty Sire> 
In mortal bosoms wakes this ^ay contempt, mo 

These grateful stings of laughter, IVom disgust 
IOdu(;ing pleasni'e? Wherefore, but to aid 
'rije. tartly stejis of Keason, and at once 
\^y this prompt impulse urge us to depress 
The giddy aims of Folly? Though the light 
( )f Truth slow dawning on the impiiring mind 
At huigth unfoltis, thiough many a subtile tic, 
How these uncouth disorders end at last 
In pnhlic evil! yet benignant Heaven, 
Conscious how dim tin; dawn of truth appears ^o 
To thousands; conscious what a scanty pause 
Krom labours and from care, the widir lot 
Of humble life, all'ords for studious thought 



176 THE PLEASURES OF 

To scan the maze of Nature ; therefore stamp'd 
The gLirhig scenes with characters of scorn, 
As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown. 
As to the letter'd sage's curious eye. 

Such are the various aspects of the mind — 
Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts 
Attain that secret harmony which blends 28O 

The ethereal spirit with its mould of clay ; 
O ! teach me to reveal the grateful charm 
That searchless Nature o'er the sense of man 
Diffuses, to behold, in lifeless things, 
The inexpressive semblance of himself. 
Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woods 
That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow ; 
AVith what religious awe the solemn scene 
Commands your steps ! as if the reverend form 
Of Minos or of Numa should forsake 290 

The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade 
Move to your pausing eye ! Behold the expanse 
Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds 
Flit o'er tiie heavens before the sprightly breeze: 
Now their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun ; 
Now streams of splendour, thro' their opening veil 
Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn 
Tlie aerial shadows ; on the curling brook. 
And on the shady margin's quivering leaves 
AVith quickest lustre glancing ; wliile you view soo 
The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast 
Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth [round 
With clouds and sunshine chequer'd, while the 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 177 

Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue 
Of some gay nymph amid her subject train, 
Moves all obsequious ? AVhence is this effect, 
This kindred power of such discordant things ? 
Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone 
To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers 
At iirst were strung? Or rather from the links 
Wliich artful custom twines around her frame ? 

For wlien the different images of things, 8i2 

By chance combin'd, have struck the attentive soul 
Witli deeper impulse, or connected long, 
Have drawn her frequent eye ; howe'er distinct 
The external scenes, yet oft tlie ideas gain 
From that conjunction an eternal tie, 
And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind 
Recall one partner of the various league, 
Immediate, lo ! the firm confederates rise, sao 

And each his former station straight resumes : 
One movement governs the consenting throng, 
And all at once with rosy pleasure shine. 
Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care. 
'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold, 
Two faithful needles, from the informing touch 
Of the same parent stone, together drew 
Its mystic virtue, and at first conspir'd 
With fatal impulse quivering to the pole: 
Then, tho' disjoin'd by kingdoms, tho' the main 
Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different stars 
Bebeld their wakeful motions, yet preserv'd ssa 
The former friendship, and remember'd still 



178 TIIK TLKASURKS OF 

The alliance of their birth : whatc'er the line 
Which one po.sscss'd, nor pause nor quiet l^new 
The sure associate, ere witii trembling speed 
He found his path, and tix'd unerring there. 
Such is the secret union, wii(!n we feel 
A song, a flower, a name, at once restore 
Those h)ng-connecl(Ml scenes wiici'e iirst iho.y mov'd 
Tiie .attention: ])ackwai-d tlirongii i»(;r mazy walks 
Guiding tiie wanton fancy to her scope, aia 

To temphis, courts, or ticUis ; with all the band 
Of painted forms, of passions and designs 
Attendant : whence, if pleasing in itself, 
The prospect from that sweet accession gains 
Redoubled intluence o'er the listening mind. 
By these mysterious ties, the busy power 
Of Memory her ideal train preserves 
Entire; or when they would elude her watch, sao 
Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste 
Of dark oblivion; thus collecting all 
The various forms of being to present, 
Before the curious aim of mimic art. 
Their largest choice : like Spring's unfolded blooms 
Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee 
]\Iay tast(; at will, from their selected spoils 
To work ho.v duhrct food. For not the expanse 
Of living lakes in Suninicr's noontide; calm, 
Reflects the bordering shach;, and sun-bright 
heavens aoo 

With fairer semblance; not the seulptur'd gold 
More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 179 

Than he whose birth the sister powers of art 
Proj)itious vievv'd, aiitl from his genial star 
Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind ; 
Tlian his attemper'd bosom must preserve 
Tiie seal of Nature. Tiiere alone unchang'd, 
Her form remains. The balmy walks of May 
Tiiere breathe perennial sweets ; the trembling chord 
Resounds for ever in the abstracted car, sro 

Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye, 
Superior to disease, to grief, and time. 
Shines with unbating lustre. Tims at length 
Endow'd with all that nature can bestow. 
The child of Fancy oft in silence bends 
O'er these mixt treasures of his pregnant breast, 
With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves 
To frame he knows not what excellinnj thinj^s. 
And win he knows not what sublime reward 
Of praise and wonder. l\y degrees, the mind aao 
Feels her young nerves dilate ; the plastic powers 
Labour for action ; blind emotions heave 
His bosom ; and with loveliest frenzy caught. 
From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye, 
From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, 
Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call. 
Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth. 
From ocean's bed tiiey come ; the eternal heavens 
Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss 
Pours out her births unknown. AVith fixed gaze 
He marks the rising phantoms. Now compares 
Their diiferent forms; now blends them, now divides, 



180 THE PLEASURES OP 

Enlarges and extenuates by turns ; sm 

Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands, 

And infinitely varies. Hither now, 

Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim, 

With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan 

Begins to open. Lucid order dawns ; 

And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds 

Of Nature at the voice divine repair'd «o 

Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil'd 

Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun 

Sprung up the blue serene ; by swift degrees 

Thus disentangled, his entire design 

Emerges. Colours mingle, features join. 

And lines converge : the fainter parts retire ; 

The fairer eminent in light advance ; 

And every image on its neighbour smiles. 

Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy 

Contemplates. Tiien, with Promethean art, 4io 

Into its proper vehicle he breathes 

The fair conception ; which, embodied thus, 

And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears 

An object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd, 

The various organs of his mimic skill. 

The consonance of sounds, the featur'd rock, 

The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse, 

Beyond their proper powers attract the soul 

By that expressive semblance, while in sight 

Of Nature's great original we scan 420, 

The lively child of Art ; while line by line, 

And feature after feature, we refer 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 181 

To that sublime exemplar Avhence it stole 
Those animating charms. Thus Beauty's palm 
Betwixt them wavering hangs ; applauding Love 
Doubts where to choose ; and mortal man aspires 
To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud 
Of gathering hail with limpid crusts of ice 
Inclos'd and obvious to the beaming sun, 
Collects his large effulgence ; straight the heavens 
With equal flames present on either hand 431 

The radiant visage : Persia stands at gaze, 
Apall'd ; and on the brink of Ganges doubts 
The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name, 
To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, 
To which his warbled orisons ascend. 

Such various bliss the well-tun'd heart enjoys, 
Favour'd of Pleaven ! while plung'd in sordid cares, 
The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine ; 
And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke 440 

Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away 
Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns 
Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain, 
Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judge 
Casts a disdainful eye ; and calls my toil. 
And calls the love and beauty which I sing. 
The dream of Folly. Thou, grave censor ! say, 
Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms 
Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense 
To let her shine upon thee? So the man 450 

Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven 
Might smile with scorn, while raptur'd vision tells 



182 THE PLEASURES OF 

Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright 

O'er all creation. From the wise be far 

Such gross unhallow'd pride ; nor needs my song 

Descend so low ; but rather now unfold, 

If human thought could reach, or words unfold,. 

By what mysterious fabric of the mind, 

The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound 

Result from airy motion ; and from shape «» 

The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair. 

By what fine ties hath God connected things 

When present in the mind, which in themselves 

Have no connection ? Sure the rising sun, 

O'er the cerulean convex of the sea, 

With equal brightness and with equal warmth 

Miglit roll his fiery orb ; nor yet the soul 

Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers 

Exulting in the splendour she beholds ; 

Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp 

Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve, in 

Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath 

Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain 

Attemper, could not man's discerning ear 

Through all its tones the sympathy pursue ; 

Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy 

Steal thro' his veins, and fan the awaken'd heart, 

Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song ? 

But were not Nature still endow'd at large 
With all which life requires, tho' unadorn'd 48o 

With such enchantment ? Wherefore then her form 
So exquisitely fair ? her breath perfum'd 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. * 183 

With such ethereal sweetness ? whence her voice 

Inforra'd at will to raise or to depress 

Tlie impassiori'd soul ? and whence the robes of light 

"Whieh thus invest her with more lovely pomp 

Than Fancy can describe ? Whence but from Thee, 

Source divine of ever-flowing love, 

And thy unmcasur'd goodness? Not content 

With every food of life to nourish man, <9o 

By kind illusions of the wondering sense, 

Thou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye, 

Or music to his ear : well-pleas'd, he scans 

The goodly prospect ; and, with inward smiles, 

Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain ; 

Beholds the azure canopy of heaven, 

And living lamps that over-arch his head 

With more than regal splendour; bends his ears 

To the full choir of water, air, and earth ; 

Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, fioo 

Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch, 

Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds, 

Than space or motion or eternal time ; 

So sweet he feels their influence to attract 

The fixed soul, to brighten the dull glooms 

Of care, and make the destin'd road of life 

Delightful to his feet. So fables tell. 

The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits, 

Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells 

Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils, «io 

A visionary paradise disclos'd 

Amid the dubious wild : with streams and shades 



184 THE PLEASURES OP 

And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles, 
Cheers his long labours, and renews his fiame. 
AVhat then is taste, but these internal powers 
Active and strong, and feelingly alive 
To each fine impulse ? a discerning sense 
Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust 
From things deform'd or disarrang'd, or gross 
In species ? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, 
Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow ; sa 

But God alone, when first his active hand 
Imprints the secret bias of the soul. 
He, mighty Parent! wise and just in all, 
Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven. 
Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain 
Who journeys homeward from a summer day's 
Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils 
And due repose, he loiters to behold 
The sunshine gleaming, as thro' amber clouds, rao 
O'er all the western sky ; full soon, I ween, 
His rude expression and untutor'd airs. 
Beyond the power of language, will unfold 
The form of beauty, smiling at his heart. 
How lovely ! how commanding ! But tho' Heaven 
In every breast hath sown these early seeds 
Of love and admiration, yet in vain, 
Without fair culture's kind, parental aid, 
Without enlivening suns and genial sliowers. 
And shelter from tlie blast, in vain we hope mo 
The tender plant should rear its blooming head, 
Or yield the harvest promis'd in its spring. 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 185 

Nor yet will every soil with equal stores 
Repay the tiller's labour ; or attend 
His will, obsequious, whether to produce 
The olive or the laurel. Different minds 
Incline to different objects : one pursues 
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ; 
Another sighs for harmony and grace, 
And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning fires 
The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground, 
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air, 
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed, 
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky; 
Amid the mighty uproar, while below 
The nations tremble, Shakespeare looks abroad 
From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys 
The elemental war. But Waller longs. 
All on the margin of some flowery stream, 
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool mo 

Of plantane shades, and to the listening deer 
The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain 
Resound soft-warbling all the livelong day : 
Consenting Zephyr sighs ; the weeping rill 
Joins in his plaint, melodious ; mute the groves ; 
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn. 
Such and so various are the tastes of men. 

O blest of Heaven, wliom not the languid songs 
Of Luxury, the Siren ! not the bribes 
Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils m 

Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave 
Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 

N 



186 THE PLEASURES OF 

Of Nature fiiir Imagination culls 
To charm the cnliven'd soul ! What tho' not all 
Of mortal offspring can attain the heights 
Of envied life ; though only few possess 
Patrician treasures or imperial state; 
Yet Nature's care, to all her children just, 
With richer treasures and an ampler state, 
Endows at large whatever happy man rao 

Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, 
The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns 
The princely dome, the column and the arch, 
The breathing marbles and the sculptur'd gold. 
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim. 
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the Spring 
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem 
Its lucid leaves unfolds ; for him the hand 
Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch eso 

With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. 
Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings; 
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, 
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze 
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes 
The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 
From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes 
Fresh pleasure only ; for the attentive mind, 
By this harmonious action on her powers, eoo 

Becomes herself harmonious : wont so oft 
In outward things to meditate the charm 



IMA.GINATION. BOOK III. 187 

Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home 

To find a kindred order, to exert 

"Within lierself this elegance of love, 

This fair-inspir'd delight; her temper'd powers 

Refine at length, and every passion wears 

A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 

But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze 

On Nature's form, where, negligent of all «io 

These lesser graces, she assumes the port 

Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh'd 

The world's foundations, if to these the mind 

Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far 

AVill be the change, and nobler. Would the forms 

Of servile custom cramp her generous powers ? 

Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth 

Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down 

To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear? 

Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the winds fiao 

And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, 

The elements and seasons : all declare 

For what the Eternal Maker has ordain'd 

The powers of man : we feel witliin ourselves 

His energy divine : he tells the heart, 

He meant, he made us to behold and love 

"What he beholds and loves, the general orb 

Of life and being ; to be great like him. 

Beneficent and active. Thus the men «29 

Whom Nature's works can charm, with God himself 

Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day, 

With his conceptions, act upon his plan, 

And form to his the relish of their souls. 



188 NOTES OK THE PLEASURES OP 



NOTES ON BOOK I. 



Ver. 151. Say why was man, &c.] In apologizing for the fre- 
quent negligences of the sublimest authors of Greece, " those 
godlike geniuses," says Longinus, "were well assured that 
Nature had not intended man for a low-spirited or ignoble 
being; but bringing us into life and the midst of this wide uni- 
verse, as before a multitude assembled at some heroic solemnity, 
that we might be spectators of all her magniticence, and candi- 
dates high in emulation for the prize of glory ; she has there- 
fore implanted in our souls an inextinguishable love of every 
thing great and exalted, of every thing which appears divine 
beyond our comprehension. A\ hence it comes to pass, that 
even the whole world is not an object sufiicient for the depth 
and rapidity of hiunan imagination, which often sallies forth 
beyond the limits of all that surrounds us. Let any man cast 
his eye through the whole circle of our existence, and consider 
how especially it abounds in excellent and grand objects, he 
will soon acknowledge for what enjoyments and pursuits we 
"were destined. Thus, by the very propensity of nature, we 
are led to admire, not little springs or shallow rivulets, however 
clear and delicious, but the Nile, the Rhine, the Danube, and, 
nnidi more than all, the Ocean," &c. — Dlonys. Longiu. de 
Sublim. § xxiv. 

Ver. 202. The empyreal waste. \ " Ne se peut-il point qu'il 
y ait un grand espace au dela de la region des etoilesV Que ce 
soit le ciel empyi-ee, ou non, toujours cet espace immense qui 
environne toute cette region pourra etre rempli de bonheur et 
de gloire. II pourra etre con9u comme I'ocean, oQ se rendenl 
les fleuves de toutes les creatures bienheureuses, quand elles 
seront venues k leur perfection dans le systeme des etoiles." 
Leibnitz dans la Theodicee, part. i. § 19. 

Ver. 204. Whose unfadimj lujht, &c.] It was a notion of 
the great 'Mr. Huygens, that there ma}^ be fixed stars at such a 
distance from our solar system, as that their light should not 
have had time to i-each us, even from the creation of the world 
to this day. 

Ver. 234. the necjleci 

Of all familiar prvspeds, &:c.] It is here said, 
that, in consequence of the love of novelty, objects which at 
first were highly delightful to the mind lose that efiect by 
repeated attention to them. But the instance of habit la 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 189 

opposed to this observation ; for there, objects at first distaste- 
ful are in time rendered entirely agreeable by repeated atten- 
tion. 

The difiiculty in this case will be removed, if we consider, 
chat, when objects at first agreeable lose that influence by fre- 
quently recurring, the mind is wholly passive, and the percep- 
tion involuntary; but habit, on the other hand, generally 
supposes choice and activity accompanying it: so that the 
pleasure arises here, not from the object, but from the mind's 
conscious determination of its own activity; and consequently 
increases in proportion to the frequency of that determination. 

It will still be urged, perhaps, that a familiarity with dis- 
agi-eeable objects renders them at length acceptable, even when 
there is no room for the mind to resolve or act at aU. In this 
case, the appearance must be accounted for one of these 
ways. 

The pleasure from habit may be merely negative. The 
object at first gave uneasiness: this uneasiness gradually wears 
oft as the object grows familiar; and the mind, finding it at last 
entirely removed, reckons its siti;ation really pleasurable, com- 
pared with what it had experienced before. 

The dislike conceived of the object at first might be owing 
to prejudice or want of attention. Consequently the mind, 
being necessitated to review it often, may at length perceive its 
own mistake, and be reconciled to what it had looked on with 
avei-sion. In which case, a sort of instinctive justice naturally 
leads it to make amends for the injury, by running toward the 
other extreme of fondness and attachment. 

Or, lastly, though the object itself should always continue 
disagreeable, yet circumstances of pleasure or good fortune 
may occur along with it. Thus an association may arise in 
the mind, and the object never be remembered without those 
pleasing circumstances attending it; by which means the dis- 
agreeable impression which it at first occasioned will in time 
be quite obliterated. 

Ver. 240. this desire 

Of objects new and strange — .] These two ideas 
are oft confounded"; though it is evident the mere novelty of an 
object makes it agreeable, even where the mind is not atfected 
•with the least degree of wonder: whereas wonder indeed always 
implies novelty, being never excited by common or well-known 
appearances. " But the pleasure in both cases is explicable 
from the same final cause, the acquisition of knowledge and 
enlargement of our views of nature: on this account, it is 
natural to treat of them together. 

Ver. 374. Truth and (]<md are one, 

And beauty dwtlls in them, &c.] " Do you ima- 

fine," says Socrates to Anstippus, " that what is good is not 
eautifulV Have you not observed that these appearances 
always coincide V Virtue, for instance, in the same respect as 



190 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF 

to Avliich we call it good, is ever acknowledged to be beautiful 
also. In the characters of men we always* join the two deno- 
minations together. The beauty of human bodies corresp.onds, 
in like manner, with that economy of parts wiiich constitutes 
them good; and, in every circumstance of life, the same object 
is constantly accounted both beautiful and good, inasmuch as 
it answers the j)urposes for which it was designed." — Xcno- 
plionl. Memorab. Socrat. 1. iii. c. 8. 

This excellent observation has been illustrated and extended 
by the noble restorer of ancient philosophy ; see the Charac- 
teristics, vol. ii. pp. 339 and 422, and vol. iii. p. 181. And 
another ingenious author has particularly shown, that it holds 
in the general laws of nature, in the works of art, and the con- 
duct of the sciences, — Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of 
Beauty and Virtue, Treat, i. § 8. As to the connection between 
beauty and truth, there are two opinions concerning it. Some 
philosophers assert an independent and invariable law in na- 
ture, in eonsequence of which all rational beings must aUke 
perceive beauty in some certain proportions, and deformity in 
the contrary. And this necessity being supposed the same 
with that which commands the assent or dissent of the under- 
stfl'iding, it follows of course that beauty is founded on the 
universal and unchangeable law of truth. 

But others there are who believe beauty to be merely a 
relative and arbitrary thing; that indeed it was a benevolent 
proxnsion in nature to annex so delightful a sensation to those 
objects which are best and most perfect in themselves, that 
so we might be engaged to the choice of them at once, and 
without staying to infer their usefulness from their structure 
and e.rt'ects; but that it is not impossible, in a physical sense, 
that two beings, of equal capacities for tnith, should perceive, 
one of them beauty, and the other defonnity, in the same pro- 
portions. And upon this supposition, by that truth which is 
always connected with beauty, nothing more can be meant than 
the confonuity of any object"^to those proportions upon which, 
after careful 'examination, the beauty of that species is found 
to depend. Polycletus, for instance, a famous ancient sculptor, 
from an accurate mensuration of the several parts of the most 
perfect human bodies, deduced a canon or system of proportions 
which was the rule of all succeeding artists. Suppose a 
statue modelled according to this: a man of mere natural 
taste, upon looking at it, without entering into its proportions, ■ 
confesses and admires its beauty; Avhereas a professor of the 
art applies his measures to the head, the neck, or the hand, 
and, without attending to its beauty, pronounces the workman- 
ship to be just and true. 

* This the Athenians did in a peculiar manner, by the wordi 
Ka2x)Kdyad6g and KaJjOKdyaOia. 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 191 

Ver. 492. As tvhen Brutus rose, &c.] Cicero himself de- 
scribes this fact: " Csesiire iiiterfecto — statim crueiitum altd 
extollens M. Brutus pugionein, Ciceronem nomiiiatim excla- 
mavit, atque ei recuperatam libertatein est gratuhitus." — Oic. 
Philipp. ii. 12. 

Ver. 648. Where virtue, rising from the au'ful depth 

Of truth's Mysterious bosom, &c. \ According to the 
opinion of those who assert moral obligation to be founded 
on an immutable and universal law, and that which is usually 
called the moral sense, to be detenuined by the peculiar tem- 
per of the imagination and the earliest associations of ideas. 

Ver. 591. Lyceum\ The school of Aristotle. 

Ver. 592. Acac/eitrus.] The school of Plato. 

Ver. 594. Jlissus.] One of the rivers on Avhich Athens was 
situated. Plato, in some of his finest dialogues, lays the scene 
of the convei'sation with Socrates on its banks. 



NOTES ON BOOK II. 

Ver. 10. At last the IFuses rose, Sec] ' About the age of Hugh 
Capet, founder of the third race of French kings, the poets of 
Provence were in high reputation; a sort of strolling bards or 
rhapsodists, who went about the courts of princes and noble- 
men, entertaining them at festivals with music and poetry. 
They attempted both the epic, ode, and satire ; and abounded 
in R wild and fantastic vein of fable, partly allegorical, and 
partly founded on traditionary legends of the Saracen wars. 
These Avere the rudiments of'ltrJian poetry. But their taste 
and composition must' have oeen extremely barbarous, as we 
may judge by those who followed the turn of their fable in 
much politer "times; such as Boiardo, Bei'nardo, Tasso, Ari- 
osto, iSkc. 

Ver. 21. Valclusa.] The famous retreat of Francisco Pe- 
trarcha, the father of Italian poetry, and his mistress Laura, a, 
ladv of Avignon. 

Ver. 22. Ar7W.] The river which runs by Florence, the 
birth-place of Dante and Boccaccio. 

Ver. 23. Parthenope.] Or Naples, the birth place of San- 
nazaro. The great Torquato Tasso was born at Sorento, in the 
khigdom of Naples. 

Ibid. the rage 

Of dire ambition, &c.] This relates to the cruel wars 
among the republics of Italy, and abominable politics of its 
little princes, about the fifteenth century. These, at last, in 
conjunction with the papal power, entirely extinguished the 



192 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OP 



spirit of liberty in that country, and established that abuse of 
the fine arts which has been since propagated over all Europe. 
Ver. 30. Tims from (heir (jnardinns toni, (he tender arts, &c.] 
Nor wero they only losers by the separation. For philoso 
phy itself, to use the words of a noble philosopher, " being 
thus severed by the sprightly arts and sciences, must conse- 
quently grow dronish, insipid, pedantic, useless, and directly 
opposite to the real knowledge and practice of the world." 
Insomuch that " a gentleman," says another excellent writer, 
" cannot easily bring himself to like so austere and ungainly a 
form ; so greatly is it changed from what was once the delight 
of the finest gentlemen of antiquity, and their recreation after 
the hurry of public affairs!" From this condition it cannot 
be recovered but by uniting it once more Avith the works of 
imagination; and we have had the pleasure of observing a 
very great progress made towards their union in England within 
these few years. It is hardly possible to conceive them at a 

E -eater distance from each other than at the Revolution, when 
ocke stood at the head of one party, and Dryden of the other. 
But the general spirit of liberty, which has ever since been 
growing, naturally invited our men of wit and genius to im 
prove tliat influence which the arts of persuasion gave them 
with the people, by applying them to subjects of importance 
to society. Thus poetry and eloquence became considerable ; 
and philosophy is now of. course obliged to borrow of their 
embellishments, m order even to gain audience with the pub 
lie. 

Ver. 1*^7. From passion' s power alone, &c.] This very mys 
terious kmd of pleasure, which is often found in the exercise of 
passions generally counted painful, has been taken notice of by 
several authors. Lucretius resolves it into self-love : — 
Suave mari magno, &c. lib. ii. 1. 

As if a man was never pleased in being moved at the distress 
of a tragedy, without a cool reflection that though these ficti- 
tious personages were so unhappy, yet he himself was perfectly 
at ease and in safety. The ingenious author of the " Reflections 
Critiques sur la Po^sie et sur la Peinture," accounts for it by 
the general delight which the mind takes in its own activity, 
and the abhorrence it feels of an indolent and inattentive state; 
and this, joined with the moral approbation of its own temper, 
"which attends these emotions when natural and,Jjj3t, is certainly 
the true foundation of the pleasure, which, as it is the origin 
and basis of tragedy and epic, deserved a vevy particular con- 
sideration in this poem. 

Ver. 304. Inhabitant of earthy &c.J The account of the 
economy of Providence here introduced, as the most proper 
to calm and satisfy the mind when under the compunction of 
private evils, seems to have come originally from the Pytha- 
gorean school ; but, of the ancient philosophers, Plato has most 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 193 

largely insisted upon it, has established it with all the strength 
of his capacious understanding, and ennobled it with all the 
magnificence of his divine imagination. He has one passage 
so full and clear on this head, that I am persuaded the reader 
will be pleased to see it here, though somewhat long. Ad- 
dressing himself to such as are not satisfied concerning divine 
Providence: "The Being who presides over the whole," says 
he, "has disposed and complicated all things for the hap- 
piness and virtue of the whole, eveiy part of which, according 
to the extent of its influence, does and suffers what is fit and 
proper. One of these parts is yours, unhappy man, which 
though in itself most inconsiderable and minute, yet being con- 
nected with the universe, ever seeks to co-operate with that 
supreme order. You in the mean time are ignorant of the very 
end for which all particular natures are brought into existence, 
that the all-comprehending nature of the whole may be perfect 
and happy ; existing, as it does, not for your sake, but the cause 
and reason of your existence, which, as in the spnmetry of 
every artificial work, must of necessity concur with the gen- 
eral "^design of the artist, and be subservient to the whole, of 
which it is a part. Your complaint, therefore, is ignorant and 
groundless ; since, according to the various energy of creation 
and the common laws of nature, there is a constant provision 
of that which is best at the same time for you and for the whole. 
For the governing Intelligence, clearly beholding all the actions 
of animated and self-moving creatures, and that mixture of good 
and evil which diversifies them, considered first of all by what 
disposition of things, and by what situation of each individual 
in the general system, vice might be depressed and subdued, 
and virtue made secure of victory and happiness with the 
greatest faciUty and in the highest degree possible. In tliis 
manner he ordered, through the entire circle of being, the inter- 
nal constitution of every mind, where should be its station in 
the universal fabric, and through what variety of circumstances 
it should proceed in the whole tenor of its existence." He goes 
on in his sublime manner to assert a future state of retribution, 
" as well for those who, by the exercise of good dispositions 
being haimonized and assimilated into the divine virtue, are 
consequently removed to a place of unblemished sanctity and 
happiness, as of those who by the most flagitious arts have 
risen from contemptible beginnings to the greatest affluence 
and power, and whom you therefore look upon as unanswerable 
"instances of negligence in the gods, because you. are ignorant 
of the purposes to wliich they are subservient, and in what 
manner they contribute to that supreme intention of good to 
the whole." — Plato de Leg. x. 16. 

This theory has been delivered of late, especially abroad, 
in a manner which subverts the freedom of human actions ; 
whereas Plato appears very careful to preserve it, and has been 
in that respect imitated by the best of his followers. 



194 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF 

Ver, 321. one mif/ht rise, 

One order, &;c.J See the Meditations of Antoni- 
nus and the Characteristics, passim. 

Ver. 355. The best andjairest, &c.] This opinion is so old, 
that Timaeus Locrus calls the Supreme Being drjfiLovpjdg tov 
BsAnovog, the artificer of that which is best; and represents 
him as resolving in the beginning to produce the most excel- 
lent work, and as copyhig the world most exactly from his own 
intelligible and essential idea; "so that it yet remains, as it 
was at first, perfect in beauty, and will never stand in need 
of any coi-rection or improvement." There can be no room 
for a caution here, to understand the expressions, not of any 
particular circumstances of human life separately considered, 
but of the sum or universal system of hfe and being. See also- 
the vision at the end of the Theodicee of Leibnitz. 

Ver. 350. Asjiame ascends, &c.] This opinion, though not 
held by Plato nor any of the ancients, is yet a very natural 
consequence of his principles. But the disquisition is too coi^ 
plex and extensive to be entered upon here. 

Ver. 755. Fhilip.] The Macedonian. 



NOTES ON BOOK UI. 



Ver. 18. where the powers 

Of fancy, (Jfec] The influence of the imagination 
on the conduct of life is one of the most important points in 
moral philosophy. It were easy, by an induction of facts, to 
prove that the imagination directs almost aU the passions, and 
mixes with almost every circumstance of action or pleasure. 
Let any man, even of the coldest head and soberest industry, 
analyse the idea of what he calls his mterest ; he will find that 
it consists chiefly of certain degrees of decency, beauty, and 
order, variously combined into one system, the idol which he 
seeks to enjoy by labour, hazard, and self-denial. It is on this 
account of the last consequence to regulate these images by 
the standard of nature and the general good; otherwise the 
imagination, by heightening some objects beyond their real 
excellence and"^ beauty, or by representing others m a more 
odious or terrible shape than they deserve, may of course en- 
gage us in pursuits utterly inconsistent with the moral order 
of tMngs. 

If it be objected that this account of things supposes the 
passions to be merely accidental, whereas there appears in 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. Vd3 

some a natural and hereditary disposition to certain passions 
prior to all circumstances of education or fortune; it may be 
answered, tliat though no man is born ambitious or a miser, 
yet he may inherit from his parents a peculiar temper or com- 
plexion of mind, which shall i-ender his imagination more 
liable to be struck with some particular objects, consequently 
dispose him to form opinions of good and ill, and entertain 
passions of a particular turn. Some men, for instance, by the 
original t'rame of their minds, are more delighted with the vast 
and magniticent, others on the contrary with the elegant and 
gentle aspects of nature. And it is very remarkable, that the 
disposition of the moral powers is always similar to this of the 
imagination ; that those who are most inclined to admire i)ro- 
digious and sublime objects in the physical world are also most 
inclined to applaud examples of fortitude and heroic virtue in 
the moral. While those who are charmed rather with the deli- 
cacy and sweetness of colours, and forms, and sounds, never 
fail m like manner to yield the preference to the softer scenes 
of virtue and the sympathies of a domestic life. And this is 
sutficient to account for the objection. 

Among the ancient philosophers, though "sve have several 
hints concerning this influence of the imagination upon morals 
among the remains of the Socratic school, yet the Stoics were 
the first who paid it a due attention. Zeno, their founder, 
thought it impossible to preserve any tolerable regularity in life, 
without fi-equently inspecting those pictures or appearances of 
things, which the imagination offers to the mind (Diog. Laert. 
1. vii.). The meditations of M. Aurelius, and the discom-ses of 
Epictetus, are full of the^ same sentiment ; hisomuch that the 
latter makes the Xpr/aig ola del. (^avraaiuv^ or right management 
of the fancies, the only thing for which we are accountable to 
Providence, and witho'ut which a man is no other than stupid 
or frantic. Arrian. 1. i. c. 12, and 1. ii. c. 22. See also the 
Characteristics, vol. i. from p. 313 to 321, where this stoical 
doctrine is embellished with all the elegance and graces of 
Plato. 

Ver. 75. hoxo Folly's awkward arts, &c.] Notwith- 
standing the general influence of ridicule on private and civil 
life, as well as on learning and the sciences, it has been almost 
constantly neglected or misrepresented, by divines especially. 
The manner of treating these subjects in the science of human 
nature should be precisely the same as in natural philosophy; 
from particular facts to investigate the stated order in which' 
they appear, and then apply the general law, thus discovered, 
to the explication of other appearances and the hnprovement of 
useful arts. 

Ver. 84. Behold the foremost band, &c.] The first and most 
general source of ridicule in the characters of men is vanity, 
or self-applause for some desirable quality or possession which 
evidently does not belong to those who assume it. 



196 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF 

Ver. 121. Then comes the second order, &c. Ridicule from 
the same vanity, where, though the possession be real, yet no 
merit can arise from it, because of some particular circum- 
stances, which, though obvious to the spectator, are yet over- 
looked by the ridiculous character. 

Ver. 152. Annihe/' tr/besuccee'/s,&c.'] Ridicule from a notion 
of excellence in particular objects disproportioned to their 
intrinsic value, and inconsistent with the order of nature. 

Ver. 191. Bui noiv, ye (jay, &c.J Ridicule from a notion 
of excellence, when the object is absolutely odious or con- 
temptible. This is the higliest degree of the ridiculous; as in 
the atiectation of diseases or vices. 

Ver. 207. Thus far triumphant, &c.J Ridicule from false 
shame or groundless fear. 

Ver. 22B. Last of the, &c.j Ridicule from the ignorance of 
such things as our circumstances require us to know. 

Ver. 248. Suffice it to have said, ike] By comparing these 
general sources of ridicule with each other, and examining the 
ridiculous in other objects, we may obtain a general definition 
of it, equally appUcab'le to every species. The most important 
circumstance of this definition is laid down in the lines referred 
to; but others more minute we shall subjoin here. Aristotle's 
account of the matter seems both imperfect and false; to yap 
■yeXolov, says he, eotlv u^upTrj^d rt nal alaxoc, uvudvvov Kal ov 
(pOapTCKov : " the ridiculous is some certain fault or turpitude 
without pain, and not destructive to its subject" (Poet. c. 5). 
For allowing it to be true, as it is not, that the ridiculous is never 
accompanied with pain, yet we might produce many instances 
of such a fault or turpitude which cannot with any tolerable 
propriety be called ridiculous. So that the definition does not 
distinguish the thing designed. Nay, farther: even when we 
perceive the turpitude tending to the destruction of its subject, 
we may still be sensible of a ridiculous appearance, till the ruin 
become imminent, and the keener sensations of pity or terror 
banish the ludicrous apprehension from our minds. For the 
sensation of ridicule is not a bare perception of the agreement 
or disagreement of ideas; but a passion or emotion of the mind 
consequential to that perception. So that the mind may per- 
ceive the agreement or disagreement, and yet not feel the 
ridiculous, because it is engrossed by a more Violent emotion. 
Thus it happens that some men think those objects ridiculous 
to which others cannot endure to apply the name, because in 
them they. excite a much intenser and more important feeling. 
And this diti'erence, among other causes, has bx'ought a good 
deal of confusion into this question. 

That which makes objects ridiculous is some ground of 
admiration or esteem connected with other more general cir- 
cumstances comparatively worthless or deformed ; or it is some 
circumstance of turpitude or defonnity connected with what is 
in general excellent or beautiful : the inconsistent propertiea 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 197 

existing either in the objects themselves, or in the apprehension 
of the person to whom the3M-ehite; belonging ulwiiys to tiie 
same order or class of being; implying sentnnent or design; 
and exciting no acute or vehement emotion of the heart. 

To prove the several parts of this definition: The appear- 
ance of excellence or beauty connected with a general con- 
dition comparatively sordid or deformed, is ridiculous; for 
instance, pompons pretensions of wisdom joined with ignorance 
or folly in the Socrates of Aristophanes, and the ostentations 
of military glory with cowai-dice and stupidity iu the Thraso of 
Terence. 

The appearance of deformity or turpitude in cbnjunction 
with what is in general excellent or venerable, is also jidicu- 
lous; for instance, the personal Aveaknesses of a magistrate 
appearing in the solemn and public functions of his station. 

The incongruous properties may either exist in the objects 
themselves, or in apprehension of the person to whom they 
relate. In the last-mentioned instance, they both exist in the 
objects; in the instances from Aristophanes and Terence, one 
of them is objective and real, the other only founded in the 
apprehension of the ridiculous character. 

The inconsistent properties must belong to the same order 
or class of being. A coxcomb in fine clothes, bedaubed by 
accident in foul weather, is a ridiculous object; because his 
general apprehension of excellence and esteem is referred to 
the splendour and expense of his dress. A man of sense and 
merit, in the same circumstances, is not counted ridiculous ; 
because the general ground of excellence and esteem in him is, 
both in fact and in his own apprehension, of a very dilierent 
species. 

Every ridiculous object implies sentiment or design. A 
column placed by an architect without a capital or base is 
laughed at: the same column in a ruin causes a very difierent 
sensation. 

And, lastly, the occurrence must excite no acute or vehe- 
ment emotion of the heart, such as terror, pity, or indignation ; 
for in that case, as was observed above, the mind is not at 
leisure to contemplate the ridiculous. 

Whether any appearance not ridiculous be involved in this 
description, and whether'it comi)rehend every species and 
form of the ritliculous, must be determined by repeated ap[)li- 
cations of it to particular instances. 

Ver. 259. Ash we for what fair tiifl, &c. | Since it is beyond 
all contradiction evident that we have a natural sense or feeling 
of the ridiculous, and since so good a reason may be assigned 
to justify the Supreme Being for bestowing it, (jne cannot, with- 
out astonishment, refiect on the conduct of those men who 
iniiigine it is for the service of true religion to vility and blacken 
it without distinction, and endeavour to persuade us that it is 
never applied but in a bad cause. Ridicule is not concerned 



198 NOTES ON THE PLEASURES OF 

with mere speculative truth, or falsehood. It is not in abstract 
propositions or theorems, but in actions and passions, good and 
evil, beauty and deformity, that we find materials for it; and 
all these terms are relative, implying approbation or blame. 
To ask, then, whether ridicule be a test of truth is, in otFier 
words, to ask whether that which is ridiculous can be morally 
true, can be just and becoming; or whether that which is just 
and becoming can be ridiculous. A question that does not 
deserve a serious answer. For it is most evident, that, as in a 
metaphysical proposition offered to the understanding for its 
assent, the faculty of reason examines the terms of the propo- 
sition, and finding one idea, which was supposed equal to 
another, to be in fact unequal, of consequence rejects tlie pro- 
position as a falsehood; so, in objects offered to the mind for 
its esteem or applause, the faculty of ridicule, finding an incon- 
gruity in the claim, urges the mind to reject it with laughter 
and contempt. When, therefore, we observe such a claim 
obtruded upon mankind, and the inconsistent circumstances 
carefully concealed from the eye of the public, it is our business, 
if tlie matter be of importance to society, to drag out those 
latent circumstances, and, by setting them in full view, to con- 
vince the world how ridiculous the claim is: and thus a double 
advantage is gained; for we both detect the moral falsehood 
sooner than in the way of speculative inquiry, and impress the 
minds of men with a stronger sense of the vanity and error of 
its authors. And this, and no more, is meant by the application 
of ridicule. 

But it is said, the practice is dangerous, and may be incon- 
sistent with the i-egard we owe to objects of real dignity and 
excellence. I answer, the practice fairly managed can never 
be dangerous: men maybe dishonest in obtruding circum- 
stances foreign to the object, and we may be inadvertent in 
allowing those circumstances to impose upon us ; but the sense 
of ridicule always judges right. The Socrates of Aristophanes 
is as truly ridiculous a character as ever was drawn: true; 
but it is not the character of Socrates, the divine moralist, and 
father of ancient wisdom. What then '? did the ridicule of the 
poet hinder the philosopher from detecting and disclaiming 
those foreign circumstances which he had falsely introduced 
into his character, and thus rendered the satirist doubly ridi- 
culous in his turn '? No ; but it nevertheless had an ill inlluence 
on tlie minds of the people. And so has the reasoning of 
Spinoza made many atheists: he has founded it, indeed, on 
suppositions utterly false ; but allow him these, and his conclu- 
sions are unavoidably true. And if we must reject the use of 
ridicule, because, by the imposition of false circumstances, 
things may be made to seem ridiculous which are not so in 
themselves; why we ought not in the same manner to reject 
the use of reason, because, by proceeding on false principles, 
conclusions will appear true which are impossible in nature. 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 199 

let the vehement and obstinate declaimers against ridicule 
determine. 

Ver. 285. The inexpressive semblance, &c.] This similitude 
is the foundation of almost all the ornaments of poetic dic- 
tion. 

Ver. 326. Two faithful needles, &c.] See the elegant poem 
recited by Cardinal Bembo in the character of Lucretius; 
Strada Prolus. vi. Academ. 2, c. v. 

Ver. 348. By these mysterious ties, &c.] The act of remem- 
bering seems ahnost wholly to depend on the association of 
ideas. 

Ver. 411. Into its proper vehicle, &c.] This relates to the 
different sorts of corporeal mediums, by which the ideas of the 
artists are rendered palpable to the senses ; as by sounds in 
music, by lines and shadows in painting, by diction in poetry, 
&c. 

Ver. 547. One pursues 

The vast alone, &c.] See the note to ver. 18 of 
this book. 

Ver, 558. Waller mgs, &c.] 

! how I long my careless limbs to lay 
Under the plantane shade ; and all the day 
With amorous airs my fancy entertain, &c. 

Waller, Battle of the Summer Islands, Canto I. 
And again, 

While in the park I sing, the list'ning deer 
Attend my passion, and forget to fear, &c. 

At Pens-hurst. 

Ver. 593. Not a breeze, &c.J That this account may not 
appear rather poetically extravagant than just in philosophy, 
it may be proper to produce the sentiment of one of the great- 
est, wisest, and best of men on this head ; one so little to be 
suspected of partiality in the case, that he reckons it among 
those favours for which he was especially thankful to the gods, 
that they had not suffered him to make any great proficiency 
in the arts of eloquence and poetry, lest by that means he 
should have been diverted from pursuits of more importance 
to his high station. Speaking of the beauty of universal nature, 
he observes, that there " is a pleasing and graceful aspect in 
every object we perceive," when once we consider its connec- 
tion with that general order. He instances in many things 
which at first sight would be thought rather deformities ; and 
then adds, " that a man who enjoys a sensibility of temper, with 
a just comprehension of the universal order, will discern many 
amiable things, not credible to every mind, but to those alone 
who have entered into an honourable familiarity with nature 
and her works." — M. Antonin. iii. 2. 



THE 



PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. 



A POEM. 



GENERAL ARGUMENT. 

The pleasures of the imagination proceed either from natural 
objects, as from a flourislaing grove, a clear and murmuring 
fountain, a calm sea by moonlight ; or from works of art, such 
as a noble edifice, a musical tune, a statue, a picture, a poem. 
In treating of these pleasures, we must begin with the fonner 
class, they being original to the other; and nothing more being 
necessary, in order to explain them, than a view of our natural 
inclination toward greatness and beauty, and of those appear- 
ances, in the world around us, to which that mclination is 
adapted. This is the subject of the first book of the following 
poem. 

But the pleasures which we receive from the elegant arts, 
from music, sculpture, painting, and poetry, are much more 
various and complicated. In them (besides greatness and 
beauty, or fonus proper to the imagination) we find interwoven 
frequent representations of truth, of virtue and vice, of circum- 
stances proper to move us Avith laughter, or to excite in us 
pity, fear, and the other passions. These moral and intellec- 
tual objects are described in the second book, to which the 
third properly belongs as an episode, though too large to have 
been included in it. 



GENERAL ARGUMENT. 201 

With the above mentioned causes of pleasure, which are 
universal in the course ol" human life, and appertain to our 
higher faculties, many others do generally occur, more limited 
in their operation, or of an inferior origin: such are the novelty 
of objects, the association of ideas, aftections of the bodily 
senses, influences of education, national habits, and the like. 
To illustrate these, and from the whole to detei-mine the cha^ 
racter of a perfect taste, is the argiuneut of the fourth book. 

Hitherto the pleasures of the imagination belong to the 
human species in general. But there are certain particular 
men, whose imagination is endowed with powers, and suscep- 
tible of pleasures, which the generality of mankind never 
participate. These are the men of genius, destined by nature 
to excel in one or other of the arts already mentioned. It is 
proposed, therefore, in the last place, to deUneate that genius 
which in some degi'ee appears common to them all ; yet with 
a more pectdiar consideration of poetry, inasmuch as poetry 
is the most extensive of those arts, the most philosoplxical, and 
the most useful. 



202 THE PLEASURES OF THE 



BOOK I. 1757. 



ARGUMENT. 

The subject proposed. Dedication. The ideas of the Supreme Being, 
the exemplars of all things. The Tariety of constitution in the 
minds of men, with its final cause. The general character of a fine 
imagination. All the immediate pleasures of the human imagina- 
tion proceed either from Greatness or Beauty in external objects. 
The pleasure from Greatness, with its final cause. The natural 
connection of Beauty with truth* and good. The different orders 
of Beauty in different objects. The infinite and all-comprehending 
form of Beauty, which belongs to the Divine Mind. The partial 
and artificial forms of Beauty, which belong to inferior intellectual 
beings. The origin and general conduct of beauty in man. The 
subordination of local beauties to the beauty of the Universe. Con- 
clusion. 



With what enchantment Nature's goodly scene 
Attracts the sense of mortals ; how the mind 
For its own eye doth objects nobler still 
Prepare ; how men by various lessons learn 
To judge of Beauty's praise ; what raptures fill 
The breast with fancy's native arts endow'd, 
And what true culture guides it to renown ; 
My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers, 
Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend 
Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard lo 
Move in majestic measures, leading on 

* Tnith is here taken, not in a logical, but in a mixed and 
popular sense, or for what has been called the trath of things ; 
denoting as well their natural and regular condition, as a pro- 
per estimate or judgment concerning them. 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 203 

His doubtful step through many a solemn path, 

Conscious of secrets which to human sight 

Ye only can reveal. Be great in him : 

And let your favour make him wise to speak 

Of all your wondrous empire ; with a voice 

So temper'd to his theme, that those who hear 

May yield perpetual homage to yourselves. 

Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love, 

Whate'er thy name ; or Muse or Grace, ador'd 

Bj Grecian prophets ; to the sons of Heaven 21 

Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there 

The perfect counsels read, the ideas old. 

Of thine omniscient Father ; known on earth 

By the still horror and the blissful tear 

With which thou seizesfon the soul of man; 

Thou chief. Poetic Spirit, from the banks 

Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull 

Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf 29 

Where Shakespeare lies, be present. And with 

Let Fiction come ; on her aerial wings [thee 

Wafting ten thousand colours ; which in sport, 

By the light glances of her magic eye, 

She blends and shifts at will thro' countless forms, 

Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre, 

Whose awful tones control the moving sphere, 

Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend. 

And join this happy train ? for with thee comes 

The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites, 

Wise Order ; and where Order deigns to come, 

Her sister, Liberty, will not be far. « 



204 THE rLEA8UUK8 OK THE 

Be presi'iit, all yc Genii, who coiKluct 
Of youthful bards the lonely wandering step 
N(5W loyour sj)riii;j;s and siiadcs; who loucii IheireaT 
With liner Hounds, and heighten to their eyo 
The pomp of nature, and befon; them place 
Th(^ fairest, loftiest c'ount<uianee of tiiin<]^s. 

Nor thou, my Dyson, to the lay refuse 
Thy wonted partial audience. What though first 
In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports «o 

Of ehildhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay 
With many splendid prospects, many charms, 
AllurM my heart, nor conscious whence tlu^y sprung, 
Nor heedl'ul of their end? y(^t serious Truth 
Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme 
Asserted soon ; while Falsehood's evil brood, 
Vice and deceitful IMeasure, she at once 
Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil 
Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid 
Thy friendship added in the paths of life, « 

The busy paths, my nnaeeustom'd ivvi 
Preserving; nor to Truth's reeess divine. 
Through this wide argument's unbeaten space, 
Withholding sunu* guidance; while by turns 
We trae'd the sages old, or while the (pieen 
Of sciences (whom mann<M-s and the mind 
Acknowledge) to my tinm eomivuiion's voico 
Not uiuitl(uitiv(;, o'er tlu; wintry lamp 
Inelin'd her sceptre, favouring. Now the fates 
Have other tasks impos'd: — to thee, my friend. 
The ministry of freedom and the faith 



IMAOTNATION. BOOK I. 205 

Of pojuiljir (locrt'os, in oarly youth, n 

Not vainly (licy connnitlcd : mv. llicy sont 

To wait on puin ; and silent arts to urge, 

IngloriouH : not ignobh^ ; if my cares, 

To such as huiguisli on a jjjricvous bed, 

Ease and the sweet fbrgctfuhicss of ill 

Conciliate : nor deliglitleas ; if the Muse, 

Her shades to visit and to taste her springa, 

If some distinguish'd hours the bounteous Muse 

Impart, and grant (what she, and she alone, si 

Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths 

Of fame and honest favour, which tlw; bless'd 

Wear in Elysium, and which never felt 

The breath of envy or malignant tongues. 

That these my hand for thee and for myscdf 

May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend, 

O early chosen, ever found the same. 

And trusted and belov'd ; once more tlie verse 

Long dcstin'd, always obvious to thine ear, oo 

Attend, indulgent ; so in latest years. 

When time thy head with honours shall have cloth'd 

Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind, 

Amid the calm review of seasons past. 

Fair offices of friendship or kind peace 

Or public zeal, may then thy mind well-pleas'd 

Recall these happy studies of our prime. 

From Heaven my strains begin ; from Heaven 
desc(!nds 
The flame of genius to the chosen breast, loo 

And beauty with poetic wonder join'd, 



206 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

And inspiration. Ere the rising sun 

Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of night 

The moon her silver lamp suspended ; ere 

The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves 

Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd ; 

Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore, 

Within his own deep essence view'd the forms, 

The forms eternal of created things : 

The radiant sun ; the moon's nocturnal lamp ; 

The mountains and the streams ; the ample stores 

Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first, 

On that full scene his love divine he fix'd, 112 

His admiration ; till, in time complete. 

What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital power 

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath 

Of life informing each organic frame ; 

Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves ; 

Hence light and shade, alternate ; warmth and cold ; 

And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers, 

And all the fair variety of things. lao 

But not alike to every mortal eye 
Is this great scene unveil'd. For while the claims 
Of- social life to different labours urge 
The active powers of man, with wisest care 
Hath Nature on the multitude of minds 
Impress'd a various bias ; and to each 
Decreed its province in the common toil. 
To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, 
The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, 
The golden zones of heaven : to some she gave 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 207 

To search the story of eternal thought ; isi 

Of space and time ; of fate's unbroken chain, 
And will's quick movement : others by tlie hand 
She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore 
What healing virtue dwells in every vein 
Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes 
Were destin'd : some within a finer mould 
She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame. 
To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds, 
In fuller aspects and with fairer lights, 140 

This picture of the world. Through every part 
They trace the lofty sketches of his hand : 
In earth or air, the meadow's flowery store. 
The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien 
Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray'd 
(As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan) 
Those lineaments of beauty which delight 
The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force, 
Enamour'd : they partake the eternal joy. 

For as old Memnon's image long renown'd iw 
Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch 
Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth 
Spontaneous music ; so doth Nature's hand, 
To certain attributes which matter claims. 
Adapt the finer organs of the mind : 
So the glad impulse of those kindred powers 
(Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound 
Melodious, or of motion aptly sped) 
Detains the enliven'd sense ; till soon the soul 
Feels the deep concord, and assents through all 



208 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Her functions. Then the charm by fate prepar'd 
DifFuseth its enchantment. Fancy dreams, lei 
Rapt into high discourse with prophets old, 
And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams 
Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves. 
Whose walks with godlike harmony resound : 
Fountains, which Homer visits ; happy groves, 
Where Milton dwells : the intellectual power. 
On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares. 
And smiles : the passions, to divine repose, iro 
Persuaded yield : and love and joy alone 
Are waking ; love and joy, such as await 
An angel's meditation. ! attend, 
Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch ; 
Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb, 
Can thus command ; O ! listen to my song ; 
And I will guide thee to her blissful walks, 
And teach thy solitude her voice to hear, 
And point her gracious features to thy view. m 
Know then, whate'er of the world's ancient store, 
Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes, 
With love and admiration thus inspire 
Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons 
In two illustrious orders comprehend. 
Self-taught : from him whose rustic toil the lark 
Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts 
Range the full orb of being, still the form. 
Which fancy worships, or sublime or fair 
Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn : 
I see the radiant visions where they rise, iso 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 209 

More lovely than when Lucifer displays 

His glittering forehead through the gates of morn, 

To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring. 

Say, why was man so eminently rais'd 
Amid the vast creation ; why impower'd 
Through life and death to dart his watchful eye, 
With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ; 
But that the Omnipotent might send him forth, 
In sight of angels and immortal minds, 
As on an ample theatre to join 200 

In contest with his equals, who shall best 
The task achieve, the course of noble toils, 
By wisdom and by mercy preordain'd ? 
Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn ; 
To chase each meaner purpose from his breast ; 
And through the mists of passion and of sense. 
And through the pelting storms of chance and pain, 
To hold straight on with constant heart and eye 
Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm, [burns 

The approving smile of Heaven ? Else wherefore 
In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, 211 

That seeks from day to day sublimer ends ; 
Happy, though restless ? Why departs the soul 
Wide from the track and journey of her times. 
To grasp the good she knows not? In the field 
Of things which may be, in the spacious field 
Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms. 
To raise up scenes in which her own desires 
Contented may repose ; when things, which are. 
Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale : 220 



210 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Her temper, still demanding to be free ; 
Spurning the rude control of wilful might ; 
Proud of her dangers brav'd, her griefs endur'd, 
Her strength severely prov'd ? To these high 

aims, 
Which reason and affection prompt in man, 
Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature fram'd 
His bold imagination. For, amid 
The various forms which this full world presents 
Like rivals to his choice, what human breast 
E'er doubts, before the transient and minute, 230 
To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime ? 
Who, that from heights aerial sends his eye 
Around a wild horizon, and surveys 
Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave 
Through mountains, plains, thro* spacious cities old, 
And regions dark with woods, will turn away 
To mark the path of some penurious rill 
Which murmureth at his feet ? Where does the soul 
Consent her soaring fancy to restrain. 
Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings, 240 
Destin'd for highest heaven ; or which of fate's 
Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight 
To any humbler quarry ? The rich earth 
Cannot detain her ; nor the ambient air , 
With all its changes. For a while with joy 
She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small 
Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam. 
Emerging from the deep, like cluster'd isles 
Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 211 

Reflect the gleams of morning : for a while aso 
With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway - 
Bend the reluctant planets to move each 
Round its perpetual year. But soon she quits 
That prospect : meditating loftier views, 
She darts adventurous up the long career 
Of comets ; through the constellations holds 
Her course, and now looks back on all the stars 
Whose blended flames as with a milky stream 
Part the blue region. Empyrean tracts, 259 

Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven 
Abide, she then explores, whence purer light 
For countless ages travels through the abyss, 
Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arriv'd. 
Upon the wide creation's utmost shore 
At length she stands, and the dread space beyond 
Contemplates, half-recoiling : nathless down 
The gloomy void, astonish'd, yet unquell'd. 
She plungeth ; down the unfathomable gulf. 
Where God alone hath being. There her hopes 
Rest at the fated goal. For, from the birth 270 
Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said 
That not in humble, nor in brief delight, 
Not in the fleeting echoes of renown. 
Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap, 
The soul should find contentment ; but, from these 
Turning disdainful to an equal good, 
Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim, 
Till every bound at length should disappear, 
And infinite perfection fill the scene. 279 



212 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

But lo, where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pomp, 
With comely steps advancing, claims the verse 
Her charms inspire. Beauty, source of praise, 
Of honour, even to mute and lifeless things ; 
O thou that kindlest in each human heart 
Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue 
Would teach to other bosoms what so charms 
Their own ; O child of Nature and the soul. 
In happiest hour brought forth ; the doubtful garb 
Of words, of earthly language, all too mean, 
Too lowly I account, in which to clothe 290 

Thy form divine : for thee the mind alone 
Beholds ; nor half thy brightness can reveal 
Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch 
O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse, 
If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou 
Thy favourable seasons : then, while fear 
And doubt are absent, thro' wide nature's bounds 
Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will 
Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains, 
Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, soo 

To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise, 
And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend 
Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles 
Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime, 
Fly in the train of Autumn ; and look on. 
And learn from him ; while, as he roves around. 
Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, 
The branches bloom with gold ; where'er his foot 
Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 213 

Turning aside their foliage, and come forth m 

In purple lights, till every hillock glows 
As with the blushes of an evening sky ? 
Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace, 
Where slow Peneus his clear glassy tide 
Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs 
Of Ossa and the pathless woods unshorn 
That wave o'er huge Olympus ? Down the stream, 
Look how the mountains with their double range 
Embrace the vale of Tempe : from each side 
Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound 320 

Cover'd with ivy and the laurel boughs 
That crown'd young Phoebus for the Python slain. 
Fair Tempe ! on whose primrose banks the morn 
Awoke most fragrant, and the noon repos'd 
In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime ; 
Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet 
Had trac'd an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt 
Of silvan powers immortal ; where they sate 
Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns, 
Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood, sso 
And leaning round hung on the instructive lips 
Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale 
Danc'd in light measures to his sevenfold pipe. 
While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path 
Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews. 
And one perpetual spring, l^ut if our task 
More lofty rites demand, with all good vows 
Then let us hasten to the rural haunt 
Where young Melissa dwells. Nor thou refuse 



214 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

The voice whicli calls tliee from thy lov'd retreat, 
But hither, gentle^ maid, thy footsteps turn: 8« 
Here, to thy own unquestionable theme, 
O fair, graceful, bend thy polish'd brow, 
Assenting ; and the gladness of thy eyes 
Impart to me, like morning's wished light 
Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream. 
Where beech and elm along the bordering mead 
Send forth wild melody from every bough, 
Together let us w-ander ; where the hills 
Cover'd with fleeces to the lowing vale 350 

Reply ; where tidings of content and peace 
Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun 
O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul, 
DiiFuseth glad repose ! There while I speak 
Of Beauty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou 
Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell 
How first from Heaven she came ; how after all 
The works of life, the elemental scenes. 
The hours, the seasons, she had oft explor'd, 
At length her favourite mansion and her throne 
She fix'd in woman's form ; what pleasing ties sci 
To virtue bind her ; what effectual aid 
They lend each other's power ; and how divine 
Their union, should some unambitious maid. 
To all the enchantment of the Idalian queen, 
Add sanctity and wisdom : while my tongue 
Prolongs the tale, Melissa, thou mayst feign 
To wonder whence my rapture is inspir'd ; 
But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 215 

Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all sio 

That soft cheek springing to the marble neck, 

Which bends aside in vain, revealing more 

What it would thus keep silent, and in vain 

The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song 

Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform 

With joy and love the rugged breast of man, 

Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme 

While all whose souls have ever felt the force 

Of those enchanting passions, to my lyre 

Should throng attentive, and receive once more 

Their influence, unobscur'd by any cloud ssi 

Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand 

Of Fortune can bestow : nor, to confirm 

Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn 

To join his dictates to the genuine strain 

Of Pleasure's tongue ; nor yet should Pleasure's ear 

Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band 

Of youths and virgins, who through many a wish 

And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene 

Of magic bright and fleeting, are allur'd sgo 

By various Beauty ; if the pleasing t(*l 

Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn 

Your favourable ear, and trust my words. 

I do not mean, on bless'd Religion's seat 

Presenting Superstition's gloomy form. 

To dash your soothing hopes : I do not mean 

To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens, 

Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth. 

And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song 



216 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

With happier omens calls you to the field, 400 

Pleas'd with your generous ardour in the chase, 
And warm like you. Then tell me (for ye know) 
Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use 
And aptitude are strangers ? is her praise 
Confess'd in aught whose most peculiar ends 
Are lame and fruitless? or did Nature mean 
This pleasing call the herald of a lie. 
To hide the shame of discord and disease, 
And win each fond admirer into snares, 
Foil'd, baffled ? No : with better jn'ovidence «io 
The general mother, conscious how infirm 
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill. 
Thus, to the choice of credulous desire, 
Doth objects the completest of their tribe 
Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery bank, 
Cloth'd in the soft magnificence of Spring, 
Will not the flocks approve it ? will they ask 
The reedy fen for pasture ? That clear rill 
Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock, 
Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn 420 
And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool 
With muddy weeds o'ergrown ? Yon ragged vine. 
Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage 
Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl 
Keport of her, as of the swelling grape 
Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem 
When first it meets the sun ? Or what are all 
The various charms to life and sense adjoin'd ? 
Are they not pledges of a state entire, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 217 

Where native order reigns, with every part 430 
In health, and every function well perform'd ? - 

Thus then at first was Beauty sent from Heaven, 
The lovely rainistress of Truth and Good 
In this dark world ; for Truth and Good are one ; 
And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 
With like participation. Wherefore, then, 
O sons of earth, would ye dissolve the tie ? 
O ! wherefore with a rash and greedy aim 
Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene 
Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire 
Where is the suffrage of eternal Truth, 441 

Or where the seal of undeceitful good, 
To save your search from folly ? Wanting these, 
Lo, Beauty withers in your void embrace ; 
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy 
Did fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope. 
That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast, 
Be hence appall'd ; be turned to coward sloth, 
Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes 
Incurious, and with folded hands : far less «o 

Let scorn of wild, fantastic folly's dreams. 
Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride. 
Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love 
Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear 
The sacred lore of undeceitful good 
And Trutli eternal. From the vulgar crowd, 
Though Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd. 
The reverence due to this majestic pair 
With threats and execration still demands ; 
p 



218 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way 
To their celestial dwelling, she constrains 46i 

To quench or set at nought the lamp of God 
Within his frame ; through many a cheerless wild 
Though forth she leads him credulous and dark, 
And aw'd with dubious notion ; though at length 
Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells 
And mansions unrelenting as the grave. 
But void of quiet, there to watch the hours 
Of midnight ; there, amid the screaming owl's 
Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades 47o 
To talk of pangs and everlasting woe ; 
Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star 
Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower 
"Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons, 
Could but my happy hand entwine a wreath 
Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay. 
Then, (for what need of cruel fear to you. 
To you whom godlike love can well command ?) 
Then should my powerful voice at once dispel 
Those monkish horrors ; should, in words divine. 
Relate how favour'd minds like you inspir'd, 48i 
And taught their inspiration to conduct 
By ruling Heaven's decree, through various walks 
And prospects various, but delightful all, 
Move onward ; while now myrtle groves appear, 
Now arms and radiant trophies, now the rods 
Of empire with the curule throne, or now 
The domes of contemplation and the Muse. 
Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye 



IMAGINATION. BOOK 1. 219 

Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth 4»o 

Discerns the nobler life reserv'd for heaven, 

Favour'd alike they worship round the shrine 

Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins, 

The undivided partners of her sway, 

With Good and Beauty reigns. O ! let not us, 

By Pleasure's lying blandishments detain'd, 

Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage, 

! let not us one moment pause to join 

That chosen band. And if the gracious Power 

Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song soo 

Will to my invocation grant anew 

The tuneful spirit, then through all our paths 

Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre 

Be wanting ; whether on the rosy mead 

When Summer smiles, to warn the melting heart 

Of Luxury's allurement ; whether firm 

Against the torrent and the stubborn hill 

To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side 

Summon that strong divinity of soul 

Which conquers Chance and Fate ; or on the height. 

The goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim mi 

Her triumph ; on her brow to place the crown 

Of uncorrupted praise ; through future worlds 

To follow her interminated way, 

And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man. 

Such is the worth of Beauty ; such her power, 
So blameless, so rever'd. It now remains. 
In just gradation through the various ranks 
Of being, to contemplate how her gifts 



220 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Rise in due measure, watchful to attend «o 

The steps of rising Nature. Last and least, 
In colours mingling with a random blaze, 
Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the forms 
Of simplest, easiest measure ; in the bounds 
Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent 
To symmetry adds colour: thus the pearl 
Shines in the concave of its purple bed, 
And painted shells along some winding shore 
Catch with indented folds the glancing sun. «29 

Next, as we rise, appear the blooming tribes [her 
Which clothe the fragrant earth ; which draw from 
Their own nutrition ; which are born and die ; 
Yet, in their seed, immortal : such the flowers 
With which young Maia pays the village-maids 
That hail her natal morn ; and such the groves 
Which blithe Pomona rears on Vaga's bank, 
To feed the bowl of Ariconian swains 
Who quaff beneath her branches. Nobler still 
Is Beauty's name, where, to the full consent 
Of members and of features, to the pride «o 

Of colour, and the vital change of growth. 
Life's holy flame with piercing sense is given, . 
While active motion speaks the temper'd soul : 
So moves the bird of Juno ; so the steed 
With rival swiftness beats the dusty plain, 
And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy 
Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp 
Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth, 
And Truth's eternal daylight shines around; 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 221 

What palm belongs to man's imperial front, 550 

And woman powerful with becoming smiles, 

Chief of terrestrial natures, — need we now 

Strive to inculcate ? Thus hath Beauty there 

Her most conspicuous praise to matter lent. 

Where most conspicuous through that shadowy veil 

Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind ; 

By steps directing our enraptur'd search 

To Him, the first of minds, the chief, the sole ; 

From whom, through this wide, complicated world, 

Did all her various lineaments begin ; •^•n 

To whom alone, consenting and entire, 

At once their mutual influence all display. 

He,God most high (bear witness,Earth and Heaven) 

The living fountains in himself contains 

Of beauteous and sublime : with him enthron'd. 

Ere days or years trod their ethereal way. 

In his supreme intelligence enthron'd. 

The queen of love holds her unclouded state, 

Urania. Thee, O Father ! this extent 

Of matter ; thee the sluggish earth and tract 67o 

Of seas, the heavens and heavenly splendours feel 

Pervading, quickening, moving. From the depth 

Of thy great essence, forth didst thou conduct 

Eternal Form ; and there, where Chaos reign'd, 

Gav'st her dominion to erect her seat. 

And sanctify the mansion. All her works 

Well-pleas'd thou didst behold : the gloomy fires 

Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light 

Of summer; soft Campania's new-born rose, 57» 



222 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

And the slow weed wliich pines on Russian hills, 

Comely alike to thy full vision stand : 

To thy surrounding vision, which unites 

All essences and powers of the great world 

In one sole order, fair alike they stand, 

As features well consenting, and alike 

Requir'd by Nature ere she could attain 

Her just resemblance to the perfect shape 

Of universal l^eauty, which with thee 

Dwelt from the first. Thou also, ancient Mind, 

AVliom love and free beneficence await «o 

In all thy doings ; to inferior minds, 

Thy offspring, and to man, thy youngest son. 

Refusing no convenient gift nor good ; 

Their eyes didst open, in this earth, yon heaven, 

Those starry worlds, the countenance divine 

Of Beauty to behold. But not to them 

Didst tliou her awl'ul magnitude reveal, 

Sucli as before thine own unbounded sight 

She stands (for never shall created soul 

Conceive that object), nor, to all their kinds, aoo 

The same in shape or features didst thou fi-ame 

Her image. Measuring well their different spheres 

Of sense and action, tl»y paternal hand 

Hath for each race prepar'd a different test 

Of Beauty, own'd and reverene'd as their guide 

Most apt, most iiiithful. Tiience inform'd, they scan 

The objects that surround them ; and select, 

Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view, 

Each for himself selects peculiar parts «» 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 223 

Of Nature ; what the standard fix'd by Heaven 
Within his breast approves : acquiring thus 
A partial Beauty, which becomes his lot ; 
A Beauty which his eye may comprehend, 
His hand may copy : leaving, O Supreme, 
O thou whom none hath utter'd, leaving all 
To thee that infinite, consummate form. 
Which the great powers, the gods around thy throne 
And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee 
For ever to have been ; but who she is, 819 

Or what her likeness, know not. Man surveys 
A narrower scene, where, by the mix'd effect 
Of things corporeal on his passive mind. 
He judgeth what is fair. Corporeal things 
The mind of man impel with various powers. 
And various features to his eye disclose. 
The powers which move his sense with instant joy, 
The features which attract his heart to love. 
He marks, combines, reposits. Other powers 
And features of the self-same thing (unless 
The beauteous form, the creature of his mind, eso 
Request their close alliance) he o'erlooks 
Forgotten ; or with self-beguiling zeal. 
Whene'er his passions mingle in the work. 
Half alters, half disowns. The tribes of men 
Thus from their different functions and the shapes 
Familiar to their eye, with art obtain, 
Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art 
Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love ; 
Whose proud desires from Nature's homely toil 



224 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Oft turn away, fastidious : asking still «« 

His mind's high aid, to purify the form 
From matter's gross communion ; to secure 
For ever, from the meddling hand of Change 
Or rude Decay, her features ; and to add 
Whatever ornaments may suit her mien, 
Where'er he finds them scatter'd thro' the paths 
Of Nature or of Fortune. Then he seats 
The accomplish'd image deep within his breast, 
Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair. 

Thus the one Beauty of the world entire, esc 
The universal Venus, far beyond 
The keenest effort of created eyes, 
And their most wide horizon, dwells enthron'd 
In ancient silence. At her footstool stands 
An altar burning with eternal fire 
Unsullied, unconsum'd. Here every hour, 
Here every moment, in their turns arrive 
Her offspring ; an innumerable band 
Of sisters, comely all ! but differing far 
In age, in stature, and expressive mien, eao 

More than bright Helen from her new-born babe. 
To this maternal shrine in turns they come. 
Each with her sacred lamp ; that from the source 
Of living flame, which here immortal flows, 
Their portions of its lustre they may draw 
For days, or months, or years ; for ages, some ; 
As their great parent's discipline requires. 
Then to their several mansions they depart. 
In stars, in planets, through the unknown shores 



IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 225 

Of yon ethereal ocean. Who can tell, oro 

Even on the surface of this rolling earth, 
How many make abode ? The fields, the groves, 
The winding rivers and the azure main. 
Are render'd solemn by their frequent feet. 
Their rites sublime. There each her destin'd home 
Informs with that pure radiance from the skies 
Brought down, and shines throughout her little 

sphere, 
Exulting. Straight, as travellers by night 
Turn toward a distant flame, so some fit eye, 
Among the various tenants of the scene, eso 

Discerns the heaven-born phantom seated there. 
And owns her charms. Hence the wide universe, 
Through all the seasons of revolving worlds, 
Bears witness with its people, gods and men. 
To Beauty's blissful power, and with the voice 
Of grateful admiration still resounds ; 
That voice, to which is Beauty's frame divine 
As is the cunning of the master's hand 
To the sweet accent of the well-tun'd lyre. 

Genius of ancient Greece, whose faithful steps 
Have led us to these awful solitudes fioi 

Of Nature and of Science ; nurse rever'd 
Of generous counsels and heroic deeds ; 
O ! let some portion of thy matchless praise 
Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn 
This unattempted theme. Nor be my thoughts 
Presumptuous counted, if amid the calm 
Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven, 



226 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

If I, from vulgar Superstition's walk, 

Impatient steal, and from the unseemly rites roo 

Of splendid Adulation, to attend 

With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade, 

By their malignant footsteps unprofan'd. 

Come, O renowned power ; thy glowing mien 

Such, and so elevated all thy form. 

As when the great barbaric lord, again 

And yet again diminish'd, hid his face 

Among the herd of satraps and of kings ; 

And, at the lightning of thy lifted spear, ro9 

Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils, 

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs. 

Thy smiling band of Arts, thy godlike sires 

Of civil wisdom, thy unconquer'd youth 

After some glorious day rejoicing round 

Their new-erected trophy. Guide my feet 

Through fair Lyceum's walk, the olive shades 

Of Academus, and the sacred vale 

Haunted by steps divine, where once beneath 

That ever-living platane's ample boughs 

Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detain'd, tso 

On his neglected urn attentive lay ; 

While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep 

With beauteous Orithyia, his love-tale 

In silent awe suspended. There let me 

With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields, 

Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn 

My native clime ; while, far beyond the meed 

Of Fancy's toil aspiring, I unlock 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 227 

The springs of ancient wisdom ; while I add 729 
(What cannot be disjoin'd from Beauty's praise) 
Thy name and native dress, thy works belov'd 
And honour'd ; while to my compatriot youth 
I point the great example of thy sons, 
And tune to Attic themes the British lyre. 



BOOK 11. 1765. 



ARGUMENT. 

Introductiox to this more diflBcult part of the subject. Of Truth and 
its three classes, matter of fact, experimental or scientiflcal truth 
(contradistinguished from opinion), and universal truth; which last 
is either metaphysical or geometrical, either purely intellectual or 
perfectly abstracted. On the power of discerning truth depends 
that of acting with the view of an end ; a circumstance essential to 
virtue. Of Virtue, considered in the divine Mind as a perpetual 
and universal beneficence. Of human virtue, considered as a sys- 
tem of particular sentiments and actions, suitable to the design of 
Providence and the condition of man, to whom it constitutes the 
chief good and the first beauty. Of Vice and its origin. Of Ridi- 
cule ; its general nature and final cause. Of the Passions ; parti- 
cularly of those which relate to evil natural or moral, and which 
are generally accounted painful, though not always unattended 
with pleasure. 

Thus far of Beauty, and the pleasing forms 
Which man's untutor'd fancy, from the scenes 
Imperfect of this ever-changing world, 
Creates ; and views, enamour'd. Now my song 
Severer themes demand : mysterious Truth ; 



228 THE PLEASURES OP THE 

And Virtue, sovereign good ; the spells, the trains, 
The progeny of Error ; the dread sway 
Of Passion ; and whatever hidden stores 
From her own lofty deeds and IVom herself 
The mind acquires. Severer argument; » 

Not less attractive, nor deserving less 
A constant ear. For what are all the forms 
Educ'd by fancy from corporeal things. 
Greatness, or pomp, or symmetry of parts? 
Not tending to the heart, soon feeble grows, 
As the blunt arrow 'gainst the knotty trunk, 
Their impulse on the sense : while the pall'd eye 
Expects in vain its tribute ; asks in vain, 
Where are the ornaments it once admir'd ? 
Not so the moral species, nor the powers » 

Of Passion and of Thought. The ambitious mind, 
With objects boundless as her own desires, 
Can there converse ; by these unfading forms 
Touch'd and awaken'd still, with eager act 
She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleas'd 
Her gifts, her godlike fortune. Such the scenes 
Now opening round us. May the destin'd verse 
Maintain its equal tenor, though in tracts 
Obscure and arduous ! May the Source of light 
All-present, all-suificient, guide our steps so 

Through every maze ! and whom in childish years 
From the loud throng, the beaten paths of wealth 
And power, thou didst apart send forth to speak 
In tuneful words concerning highest things. 
Him still do thou, O Father, at those hours 



niAOINATTON. BOOK IT. 229 

Of pensive freedom, when the human soul 
Shuts out the rumour of the world, him still 
Toncli thou with secret lessons: call thou hack 
Kach erriii;^ thought; and let the yielding strains 
From his full bosom, like a welcome rill 40 

Spontaneous from its healthy fountain, flow! 

But from what name, what favoiirahle sign, 
What heaveidy auspice, rather shall I date 
My perilous excursion, than from Truth, 
That nearest inmate of the human soul; 
Estrang'd from whom, the countenance divine 
Of man, disfigur'd and dishonour'd, sinks 
Among inferior things ? For to the brutes 
Perception and the transient boons of sense 
Hath Fate imparted : but to man alone so 

Of sublunary beings was it given 
Kach fleeting impulse on the sensual powers 
At leisure to review ; with equal eye 
To scan the passion of the stricken nerve, 
Or the vague object striking; to conduct 
From sense, the portal turbulent and loud, 
Into the mind's wide palace, one by one, 
The frequent, pressing, fluctuating forms. 
And question and com}>are them. Thus he learns 
Tlieir birth and fortunes; how allied they haunt 
The avenues of sense ; what laws direct 01 

Tlieir union ; and what various discords rise, 
Or fixed or casual : which when his clear tliought 
Retains, and when his faithful words express, 
That living image of the external scene, 



230 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

As in a polish'd mirror held to view, 

Is Truth : where'er it varies from the shape 

And hue of its exemplar, in that part 

Dim Error lurks. Moreover, from without, 

When oft the same society of forms i 

In the same order have approach'd his mind. 

He deigns no more their steps with curious heed 

To trace ; no more their features or their garb 

He now examines ; but of them and their 

Condition, as with some diviner's tongue. 

Affirms what Heaven in every distant place, 

Through every future season, will decree. 

This, too, is Truth : where'er his prudent lips 

Wait till experience diligent and slow 

Has authorized their sentence, this is Truth ; « 

A second, higher kind : the parent this 

Of Science ; or the lofty power herself. 

Science herself, on whom the wants and cares 

Of social life depend ; the substitute 

Of God's own wisdom in this toilsome world ; 

The providence of man. Yet oft in vain. 

To earn her aid, with fix'd and anxious eye 

He looks on Nature's and on Fortune's course ; 

Too much in vain. His duller visual ray 

The stillness and the persevering acts i 

Of Nature oft elude ; and Fortune oft 

With step fantastic from her wonted walk 

Turns into mazes dim : his sight is foil'd ; 

And the crude sentence of his faltering tongue 

Is but opinion's verdict, half believ'd 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 231 

And prone to change. Here thou, who feel'st thine 

Congenial to my lyre's profounder tone, [ear 

Pause, and be watchful. Hitherto the stores, 

Which feed thy mind and exercise her powers, 

Partake the relish of their native soil, loo 

Their parent earth. But know^ a nobler dower 

Her Sire at birth decreed her ; purer gifts 

From his own treasure ; forms which never deign'd 

In eyes or ears to dwell, within the sense 

Of earthly organs ; but sublime were plac'd 

In his essential reason, leading there 

That vast ideal host which all his works 

Through endless ages never will reveal. 

Thus then endow'd, the feeble creature man, 

The slave of hunger and the prey of death, no 

Even now, even here, in earth's dim prison bound, 

The language of intelligence divine 

Attains ; repeating oft concerning one 

And many, past and present, parts and whole, 

Those sovereign dictates which in farthest heaven, 

Where no orb rolls. Eternity's fix'd ear 

Hears from coeval Truth,when Chance nor Change, 

Nature's loud progeny, nor Nature's self. 

Dares intermeddle or approach her throne. 

Ere long, o'er this corporeal world he learns 120 

To extend her sway ; while calling from the deep, 

From earth and air, their multitudes untold 

Of figures and of motions round his walk, 

For each wide family some single birth 

He sets in view, the impartial type of all 



232 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Its brethren ; suffering it to claim, beyond 
Their common heritage, no private gift, 
No proper fortune. Tlien Avhate'er his eye 
In this discerns, his bold unerring tongue 
Pronounceth of the kindred, without bound, iso 
Without condition. Such the rise of forms 
Sequester'd far from sense and every spot 
Peculiar in the realms of space or time : 
Such is the throne which man for Truth, amid 
The paths of mutability, hath built 
Secure, unshaken, still ; and whence he views, 
In matter's mouldering structures, the pure forms 
Of triangle or circle, cube or cone. 
Impassive all ; Avhose attributes nor force 
Nor fate can alter. There he first conceives wo 
True being, and an intellectual world 
The same this hour and ever. Thence he deems 
Of his own lot ; above tlie painted shapes 
That fleeting move o'er this terrestrial scene 
Looks up ; beyond the adamantine gates 
Of death expatiates ; as his birthright claims 
Inheritance in all the works of God ; 
Prepares for endless time his plan of life, 
And counts the universe itself his home. i49 

Whence also but from Truth, the light of minds, 
I3 human fortune gladden'd with the rays 
Of Virtue? with the moral colours thrown 
On every walk of this our social scene, 
Adorning for the eye of gods and men 
The passions, actions, habitudes of life, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 233 

And rendering earth like heaven, a sacred place 
Where Love and Praise may take delight to dwell? 
Let none with heedless tongue from Truth disjoin 
The reign of Virtue. Ere the dayspring flow'd, 
Like sisters link'd in Concord's golden chain, iso 
They stood before the great Eternal Mind, 
Their common parent ; and by him were both 
Sent forth among his creatures, hand in hand, 
Inseparably join'd : nor e'er did Truth 
Find an apt ear to listen to her lore, [Truth's 

Which knew not Virtue's voice ; nor, save where 
Majestic words are heard and understood. 
Doth Virtue deign to inhabit. Go, inquire 
Of Nature : not among Tartarian rocks. 
Whither the hungry vulture with its prey iro 

Returns ; not where the lion's sullen roar 
At noon resounds along the lonely banks 
Of ancient Tigris : but her gentler scenes. 
The dovecote and the shepherd's fold at morn, 
Consult ; or by the meadow's fragrant hedge. 
In spring-time when the woodlands first are green. 
Attend the linnet singing to his mate 
Couch'd o'er their tender young. To this fond care 
Thou dost not Virtue's honourable name 
Attribute ; wherefore, save that not one gleam 
Of Truth did e'er discover to themselves isi 

Their little hearts, or teach them, by the effects 
Of that parental love, the love itself 
To judge, and measure its officious deeds? 
But man, whose eyelids Truth has fill'd with day, 
Q 



234 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Discerns how skilfully to bounteous ends 
His wise affections move ; with free accord 
Adopts their guidance ; yields himself secure 
To Nature's prudent impulse ; and converts 
Instinct to duty and to sacred law. i» 

Hence Right and Fit on earth : while thus to man 
The Almighty Legislator hath explain'd 
The springs of action fix'd within his breast ; 
Hath given him power to slacken or restrain 
Their effort ; and hath shown him how they join 
Their partial movements with the master-wheel 
Of the great world, and serve that sacred end 
Which he, the unerring reason, keeps in view. 
For (if a mortal tongue may speak of him 
And his dread ways) even as his boundless eye, 
Connecting every form and every change, an 

Beholds the perfect Beauty ; so his will, 
Through every hour producing good to all 
The family of creatures, is itself 
The perfect Virtue. Let the grateful swain 
Remember this, as oft with joy and praise 
He looks upon the falling dews which clothe 
His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed 
Nourish within his furrows : when between 
Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmov'd 
The bark had languish'd, now a rustling gale ai 
Lifts o'er the fickle waves her dancing prow. 
Let the glad pilot, bursting out in thanks. 
Remember this : lest blind o'erweening pride 
Pollute their offerings ; lest their selfish heart 



IMAGINATION. BOOK U. 235 

Say to the heavenly Ruler, " At our call 

Relents thy power: by us thy arm is mov'd." 

Fools ! who of God as of each other deem ; 

Wiio his invariable acts deduce 

From sudden counsels transient as their own ; 

Nor farther of his bounty, than the event 2a 

"Which haply meets their loud and eager prayer, 

Acknowledge ; nor, beyond the drop minute 

Which haply they have tasted, heed the source 

That flows for all ; the fountain of his love 

Which, from the summit where he sits enthron'd. 

Pours health and joy, unfailing streams, throughout 

The spacious region flourishing in view, 

The goodly work of his eternal day, 

His own fair universe ; on which alone 230 

His counsels fix, and whence alone his will 

Assumes her strong direction. Such is now 

His sovereign purpose ; such it was before 

All multitude of years. For his right arm 

Was never idle : his bestowing love 

Knew no beginning ; w^as not as a change 

Of mood that woke at last and started up 

After a deep and solitary sloth 

Of boundless ages. No : he now is good. 

He ever was. The feet of hoary Time 240 

Through their eternal course have travell'd o'er 

No speechless, lifeless desert ; but through scenes 

Cheerful with bounty still; among a pomp 

Of worlds, for gladness round the Maker's throne 

Loud-shouting, or, in many dialects 



236 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Of hope and filial trust, imploring thence 

The fortunes of their people : where so fix'd 

Were all the dates of being, so dispos'd 

To every living soul of every knid 

The field of motion and the hour of rest, aw 

That each the general happiness might serve ; 

And, by the discipline of laws divine 

Convinc'd of folly or chastis'd from guilt. 

Each might at length be happy. What remains 

Shall be like what is past ; but fairer still. 

And still increasing in the godlike gifts 

Of Life and Truth. The same paternal hand. 

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore. 

To men, to angels, to celestial minds, 

Will ever lead the generations on aeo 

Through higher scenes of being ; while, supplied 

From day to day by his enlivening breath. 

Inferior orders in succession rise 

To fill the void below. As flame ascends, 

As vapours to the earth in showers return. 

As the pois'd ocean toward the attracting moon 

Swells, and the ever-listening planets charm'd 

By the sun's call their onward pace incline. 

So all things which have life aspire to God, 

Exhaustless fount of intellectual day ! 270 

Centre of souls ! Nor doth the mastering voice 

Of Nature cease witliin to prompt aright 

Their steps ; nor is the care of Heaven withheld 

From sending to the toil external aid ; 

That in their stations all may persevere 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 237 

To climb the ascent of being, and approach 
For ever nearer to the Life divine. 

But this eternal fabric was not rais'd 
For man's inspection. Though to some be given 
To catch a transient visionary glimpse 280 

Of that majestic scene which boundless power 
Prepares for perfect goodness, yet in vain 
Would human life her faculties expand 
To embosom such an object. Nor could e'er 
Virtue or praise have touch'd the hearts of men, 
Had not the Sovereign Guide, through every stage 
Of this their various journey, pointed out 
New hopes, new toils, which to their humble sphere 
Of sight and strength might such importance hold 
As doth the wide creation to his own. 290 

Hence all the little charities of life, 
With all their duties : hence that favourite palm 
Of human will, when duty is suffic'd, 
And still the liberal soul in ampler deeds 
Would manifest herself; that sacred sign 
Of her rever'd affinity to Him 
Whose bounties are his own ; to whom none said, 
" Create the wisest, fullest, fairest world, 
And make its offspring happy ; " who, intent 
Some likeness of Himself among his works 800 

To view, hath pour'd into the human breast 
A ray of knowledge and of love, which guides 
Earth's feeble race to act their Maker's part. 
Self-judging, self-oblig'd ; while, from before 
That godlike function, the gigantic power 



238 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Necessity, though wont to curb the force 

Of Chaos and the savage elements, 

Retires abash'd, as from a scene too high 

For her brute tyranny, and with her bears 

Her scorned followers. Terror, and base Awe sio 

Who blinds herself, and that ill-suited pair, 

Obedience link'd with Hatred. Then the soul 

Arises in her strength ; and, looking round 

Her busy sphere, whatever work she views, 

"Whatever counsel bearing any trace 

Of her Creator's likeness, whether apt 

To aid her fellows or preserve herself 

In her superior functions unimpair'd. 

Thither she turns exulting: that she claims 

As her peculiar good ; on that, through all 820 

The tickle seasons of the day, she looks 

With reverence still ; to that, as to a fence 

Against affliction and the darts of pain, 

Her drooping hopes repair ; and, once oppos'd 

To that, all other pleasure, other wealth. 

Vile, as the dross upon the molten gold, 

Appears, and loathsome as the briny sea 

To him who languishes with thirst and sighs 

For some known fountain pure. For what can strive 

With Virtue? Which of Nature's regions vast sso 

Can in so many forms produce to sight 

Such powerful Beauty ? Beauty, which the eye 

Of Hatred cannot look upon secure ; 

Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turn'd 

Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles, 



IMAGLNATION. BOOK 11. 239 

Or tears of humblest love. Is augbt so fair 
In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring, 
The Summer's noontide groves, the purple eve 
At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon S39 

Glittering on some smooth sea ; is aught so fair 
As virtuous friendship ? as the honour'd roof 
Whither from highest heaven immortal Love 
His torch ethereal and his golden bow 
Propitious brings, and there a temple holds 
To whose unspotted service gladly vow'd 
The social band of parent, brother, child, 
"With smiles and sweet discourse and gentle deeds 
Adore his power ? What gift of richest clime 
E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such 
Deep wishes, as the zeal that snatcheth back 350 
From Slander's poisonous tooth a foe's renown ; 
Or crosseth danger in his lion walk, 
A rival's life to rescue ? as the young 
Athenian warrior sitting down in bonds, 
That his great father's body might not want 
A peaceful, humble tomb ? the Roman wife 
Teaching her lord how harmless was the wound 
Of death, how impotent the tyrant's rage, 
Who nothing more could threaten to afflict 
Their faithful love ? Or is there in the abyss, soo 
Is there among the adamantine spheres 
Wheeling unshaken through the boundless void, 
Aught that with half such majesty can fill 
The human bosom, as when Brutus rose 
Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate 



240 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Amid the crowd of patriots ; and, his arm 
Aloft extending like eternal Jove 
When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 
On Tully's name, and shook the crimson sword 
Of justice in his rapt astonish'd eye, sro 

And bade the father of his country hail, 
For lo, the tyrant prostrate on the dust. 
And Rome again is free ? Thus, thro' the paths 
Of human life, in various pomp array 'd 
Walks the wise daughter of the judge of heaven, 
ii^air Virtue ; from her father's throne supreme 
Sent down to utter laws, such as on earth 
Most apt he knew, most powerful to promote 
The weal of all his works, the gracious end 
Of his dread empire. And tho' haply man's sw 
Obscurer sight, so far beyond himself 
And the brief labours of his little home, 
Extends not ; yet, by the bright presence won 
Of this divine instructress, to her sway 
Pleas'd he assents, nor heeds the distant goal 
To which her voice conducts him. Thus hath God, 
Still looking toward his own high purpose, fix'd 
The virtues of his creatures ; thus he rules 
The parent's fondness and the patriot's zeal ; 
Thus the warm sense of honour and of shame ; 
The vows of gratitude, the faith of love ; sai 

And all the comely intercourse of praise. 
The joy of human life, the earthly heaven! 
How fur unlike them must the lot of guilt 
Be found ? Or what terrestrial woe can match 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 241 

The self-convicted bosom, which hath wrought 

The bane of others, or enslav'd itself 

With shackles vile ? Not poison, nor sharp fire, 

Nor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate 

Suggested, or despotic rage impos'd, 400 

Were at that season an unwish'd exchange : 

When the soul loathes herself; when, flying thence 

To crowds, on every brow she sees portray'd 

Fell demons, Hate or Scorn, which drive her back 

To solitude, her judge's voice divine 

To hear in secret, haply sounding through 

The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still 

Demanding for his violated laws 

Fit recompense, or charging her own tongue 

To speak the award of justice on herself. 410 

For well she knows what faithful hints within 

Were whisper'd, to beware the lying forms 

Which turn'd her footsteps from the safer way ; 

What cautions to suspect their painted dress, 

And look with steady eyelid on their smiles. 

Their frowns, their tears. In vain ; the dazzling hues 

Of Fancy, and Opinion's eager voice, 

Too much prevail'd. For mortals tread the path 

In which Opinion says they follow good 

Or fly from evil ; and Opinion gives 420 

Report of good or evil, as the scene 

Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deform'd : 

Thus her report can never there be true 

Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye 

With glaring colours and distorted lines. 



242 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Is there a man to whom the name of death 
Brings terror's ghastly pageants conjur'd up 
Before him, death-bed groans, and dismal vows, 
And the frail soul plung'd headlong from the brink 
Of life and daylight down the gloomy air, 430 

An unknown depth, to gulfs of torturing fire 
Unvisited by mercy ? Then what hand 
Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils 
Which Fancy and Opinion thus conspire 
To twine around his heart ? Or who shall hush 
Their clamour, when they tell him that to die, 
To risk those horrors, is a direr curse 
Than basest life can bring? Tho' Love, with prayers 
Most tender, with affliction's sacred tears, 
Beseech his aid ; though Gratitude and Faith 440 
Condemn each step which loiters ; yet let none 
Make answer for him, that, if any frown 
Of Danger thwart his path, he will not stay 
Content, and be a wretch to be secure. 
Here Vice begins then : at the gate of life. 
Ere the young multitude to diverse roads 
Part, like fond pilgrims on a journey unknown, 
Sits Fancy, deep enchantress ; and to each, 
With kind, maternal looks, presents her bowl, 
A potent beverage. Heedless they comply ; 450 
Till the whole soul from that mysterious draught 
' Is ting'd, and every transient thought imbibes 
Of gladness or disgust, desire or fear. 
One homebred colour : which not all the lights 
Of Science e'er shall change ; not all the storms 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 243 

Of adverse Fortune wash away, nor yet 
The robe of purest Virtue quite conceal. 
Thence on they pass, where meeting frequent shapes 
Of good and evil, cunning j)hantoras apt 459 

To fire or freeze the breast, with them they join 
In dangerous parley ; listening oft, and oft 
Gazing with reckless passion, while its garb 
The spectre heightens, and its pompous tale 
Repeats with some new circumstance to suit 
That early tincture of the hearer's soul. 
And should the guardian, Reason, but for one 
Short moment yield to this illusive scene 
His ear and eye, the intoxicating charm 
Involves him, till no longer he discerns, 
Or only guides to err. Then revel forth 470 

A furious band that spurn him from the throne, 
And all is uproar. Hence Ambition climbs 
With sHding feet and hands impure, to grasp 
Those solemn toys which glitter in his view 
On Fortune's rugged steep ; hence pale Revenge 
Unsheaths her murderous dagger ; Rapine hence 
And envious Lust, by venal fraud upborne, 
Surmount the reverend barrier of the laws 
Which kept them from their prey ; hence all the 

crimes 
That e'er defiled the earth, and all the plagues 48o 
That follow them for vengeance, in the guise 
Of Honour, Safety, Pleasure, Ease, or Pomp, 
Stole first into the fond believing mind. 
Yet not by Fancy's witchcraft on the brain 



244 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Arc always tlui tumultuous passions driven 
To guilty deeds, nor lleason bound in chains 
That Vice alone may lord it. Oft adorn'd 
With motley pageants, Folly mounts his throne, 
And plays her idiot antics, like a queen. •» 

A thousand garbs she wears ; a thousand ways 
She whirls her giddy empire. Lo, thus far 
With bold adventure to the Hantaan lyre 
I sing for contemplation link'd with love, 
A pensive theme. Now haply should my song 
Unbend that serious countenance, and learn 
Thalia's tripping gait, her shrill-ton'd voice, 
Her wiles familiar : whether scorn she darts 
In wanton ambush from her lip or eye, 
Or whether, with a sad disguise of care 
O'ermantling her gay brow, she acts in sport «» 
The deeds of Folly, and from all sides round 
Calls forth impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke ; 
Her province. But through every comic scene 
To lead my Muse with her light pencil arm'd ; 
Through every swift occasion which the hand 
Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting 
Distends her labouring sides and chokes her tongue ; 
Were endless as to sound each grating note 
With which the rooks, and chattering daws, and 
Unwieldy inmates of the village pond, [grave 

The changing seasons of the sky proclaim ; m 

Sun, cloud, or shower. Sutfice it lo have said, 
Where'er the power of Ridicule displays 
Her quamt-eyed visage, some incongruous form, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 24j 

Some stubborn dissonance of things combinM, 
Strikes on her quick perception : whether Pomp 
Or Praise or lieauty be dragg'd in and shown 
"Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds, 
AViiere Ibiil Dt'turniity is wont to dwell ; 
Or wiiether these, with shrewd and wayward spite, 
Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien, 5:^1 
The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise. 

Ask we for what fair end the Almighty Sire 
In mortal bosoms stirs this gay contempt, 
These grateful pangs of laughter ; from disgust 
Educing pleasure .'* "Wherefore but to aid 
The tardy steps of Reason, and at once 
By tliis prompt impulse urge us to depress 
"Wild Folly's aims ? For though the sober light 
Of Truth, slow dawning on the watchful mind, sao 
At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie. 
How these uncouth disorders end at last 
In public evil ; yet benignant Heaven, 
Conscious how dim the dawn of Truth appears 
To thousands, conscious what a scanty pause 
From labour and from care the wider lot 
Of humble life atJbrds for studious thought 
To scan the maze of Nature, therefore stamp'd 
These glaring scenes with characters of scorn. 
As broad, as obvious to the })assing clown mo 

As to the letter'd sage's curious eye. 

But other evils o'er the steps of man 
Thro' all his walks impend ; against whose might 
The slender darts of Laughter nought avail : 



246 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

A trivial warfare. Some, like cruel guards, 

On Nature's ever-moving throne attend ; 

With mischief arm'd for him whoe'er shall thwart 

The path of her inexorable wheels, 

While she pursues the work that must be done 

Thro' ocean, earth, and air. Hence, frequent forms 

Of woe : the merchant, with his wealthy bark, wi 

Buried by dashing waves ; the traveller, 

Pierc'd by the pointed lightning in his haste ; 

And the poor husbandman, wdth folded arms, 

Surveying his lost labours, and a heap 

Of blasted chaff the product of the field 

Whence he expected bread. But worse than these 

I deem, far w^orse, that other race of ills 

Which human kind rear up among themselves ; 

That horrid offspring which misgovern'd Will seo 

Bears to fantastic Error ; vices, crimes. 

Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows. 

The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand 

Seem sport ; which are indeed but as the care 

Of a wise parent, who solicits good 

To all her house, though haply at the price 

Of tears and froward wailing and reproach 

From some unthinking child, whom not the less 

Its mother destines to be happy still. 

These sources then of pain, this double lot sto 
Of evil in the inheritance of mdn, 
Kequir'd for his protection no slight force. 
No careless watch ; and therefore was his breast 
Fenc'd round with passions quick to be alarm'd, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK 11. 247 

Or stubborn to oppose ; with Fear, more swift 

Than beacons catching; flame from hill to hill, 

Where armies land ; with Anger, uncontroU'd 

As the young lion bounding on his prey ; 

With Sorrow, that locks up the struggling heart; 

And Shame, that overcasts the drooping eye aso 

As with a cloud of lightning. These the part 

Perform of eager monitors, and goad 

The soul more sharply than with points of steel, 

Her enemies to shun or to resist. 

And as those passions that converse with good 

Are good themselves ; as Hope and Love and Joy, 

Among the fairest and the sweetest boons 

Of life, we rightly count : so these, which guard 

Against invading evil, still excite 

Some pain, some tumult : these, within the mind 

Too oft admitted or too long retain'd, esi 

Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurb'd rage 

To savages more fell than Libya breeds 

Transform themselves ; till human thought becomes 

A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless'd. 

Of self-tormenting fiends : Horror, Despair, 

Hatred, and wicked Envy ; foes to all ^ 

The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven. 

But when thro' blameless paths to righteous ends 
Those keener passions urge the awaken'd soul, «<» 
I would not, as ungracious violence, 
Their sway describe, nor from their free career 
The fellowship of Pleasure quite exclude. 
For what can render, to the self-approv'd, 



248 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Their temper void of comfort, though in pain? 
Who knows not with what majesty divine 
The forms of Truth and Justice to the mind 
Appear, ennobling oft the sharpest woe 
With triumph and rejoicing ? Who that bears 
A human bosom hath not often felt 6io 

How dear ai-e all those ties which bind our race 
In gentleness together, and how sweet 
Their force, let Fortune's wayward hand the while 
Be kind or cruel ? Ask the faithful youth 
Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd 
So often fills his arms ; so often draws 
His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen. 
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 
Oh ! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds 
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego eao 

Those sacred hours, when, stealing from the noise 
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes 
With Virtue's kindest looks his aching breast, 
And turns his tears to rapture ? Ask the crowd, 
Which flies impatient from the village walk 
To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below 
The ^vage winds have hurl'd upon the coast 
Some helpless bark ; while holy Pity melts 
The general eye, or Terror's icy hand 
Smites their distorted limbs and liorrent hair ; eao 
While every mother closer to her breast 
Catcheth her child, and, pointing where the waves 
Foam through the shatter'd vessels, shrieks aloud 
As one poor wretch, who spreads his piteous arms 



IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 249 

For succour, swallowM by tlie roafing surge, 
As now another, dash'd against the rock, 
Drops liftlcss down. O ! doenicst thou indeed 
Ko pleasing influence here by Nature given 
To mutual terror and compassion's tears ? 
No tender charm mysterious, which attracts e^o 
O'er all that edge of pain the social powers 
To this their proper action and their end ? 
Ask thy own heart, when, at the midnight hour, 
Slow through that pensive gloom thy pausing eye, 
Led by the glimmering taper, moves around 
The reverend volumes of the dead, the songs 
Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame 
For Grecian heroes, where the Sovran Power 
Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page. 
Even as a father meditating all sw 

The praises of his son, and bids the rest 
Of mankind there the fairest model learn 
Of their own nature, and the noblest deeds 
Which, yet the world hath seen. If then thy soul 
Join in the lot of those diviner men ; 
Sfiy, when the prospect darkens on thy view; 
When, sunk by many a wound, heroic states 
Mourn in the dust, and tremble at the frown 
Of hard Ambition ; when the generous band 
Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires 
Lie side by side in death ; when brutal Force eei 
Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp 
Of guardian power, the majesty of rule. 
The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe, 

R 



250 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

To poor, dishonest pageants, to adorn 

A robber's walk, and glitter in the eyes 

Of such as bow the knee ; when beauteous works, 

Rewards of virtue, sculptur'd forms which deck'd 

With more than human grace the warrior's arch 

Or patriot's tomb, now victims to appease sro 

Tyrannic envy, strew the common path 

With awful ruins ; when the Muse's haunt. 

The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talk 

With Socrates or Tully, hears no more 

Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks, 

Or female Superstition's midnight prayer ; 

When ruthless Havoc from the hand of Time 

Tears the destroying scythe, with surer stroke 

To mow the monuments of Glory down ; 

Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street eso 

Expands her raven wings, and from the gate 

Where senates once the weal of nations plann'd 

Hisseth the gliding snake through hoary weeds 

That clasp the mouldering column : thus when all 

The widely-mournful scene is fix'd within 

Thy throbbing bosom ; when the patriot's tear 

Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm 

In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove 

To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow, 

Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ; eoo 

Say, doth thy secret soul repine to taste 

The big distress ? or wouldst thou then exchange 

Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot 

Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 251 

Of silent flatterers bending to his nod ; 

And o'er them, like a giant, casts his eye, 

And says within himself, " I am a King, 

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe 

Intrude upon mine ear ? " The dregs corrupt 

Of barbarous ages, that Circaean draught 7oo 

Of servitude and folly, have not yet, 

Bless'd be the Eternal Ruler of the world ! 

Yet have not so dishonour'd, so deform'd 

The native judgment of the human soul, 

Nor so effac'd the image of her Sire. 



BOOK III. 1770. 

"What tongue, then, may explain the various fate 
Which reigns o'er earth ? or who to mortal eyes 
Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth 
Of joy and woe through which the feet of man 
Are doom'd to wander ? That Eternal Mind 
From passions, wants, and envy far estrang'd, 
Who built the spacious universe, and deck'd 
Each part so richly with whate'er pertains 
To life, to health, to pleasure ; why bade he 
The viper Evil, creeping in, pollute « 

The goodly scene, and with insidious rage. 
While the poor inmate looks around and smiles, 



252 THE PLEASUKES OF THE 

Dart her fell sting with poison to his soul ? 
Hard is the question, and from ancient days 
Hath still oppress'd with care the sage's thought ; 
Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre 
Too sad, too deeply plaintive : nor did e'er 
Those chiefs of human kind, from whom the light 
Of heavenly truth first gleam'd on barbarous lands, 
Forget this dreadful secret when they told 20 

What wondrous things had to their favour'd eyes 
And ears on cloudy mountain been reveal'd, 
Or in deep cave, by nymph or power divine, 
Portentous oft and wild. Yet one I know, 
Could I the speech of lawgivers assume, 
One old and splendid tale I would record 
With which the Muse of Solon in sweet strains 
Adorn'd this theme profound, and render'd all 
Its darkness, all its terrors, bright as noon. 
Or gentle as the golden star of eve. so 

Who knows not Solon ? last, and wisest far. 
Of those whom Greece, triumphant in the height 
Of glory, styl'd her fathers ? him whose voice 
Through Athens hush'd the storm of civil wrath ; 
Taught envious Want and cruel Wealth to join 
In friendship ; and, with sweet compulsion, tam'd 
Minerva's eager people to his laws, 
Which their own goddess in his breast inspir'd ? 

'Twas now the time when his heroic task 39 

Seem'd but perform'd in vain : when, sooth'd by years 
Of flattering service, the fond multitude 
Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 253 

Of great Pisistratus ; that chief rcnown'd, 
Whom Hermes and the Idalian queen had train'd, 
Even from his birth, to every powerful art 
Of pleasing and persuading ; from wliose lips 
Flow'd eloquence, which, like the vows of love, 
Could steal away suspicion from the hearts 
Of all who listen'd. Thus from day to day 
He won the general suffrage, and beheld so 

Each rival overshadow'd and depress'd 
Beneath his ampler state ; yet oft complain'd, 
As one less kindly treated, who had hop'd 
To merit favour, but submits perforce 
To find another's services preferr'd, 
Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal. 
Then tales were scatter'd of his envious foes, 
Of snares that watch'd his fame, of daggers aim'd 
Against his life. At last, with trembling limbs, 
His hair diffus'd and wild, his garments loose, eo 
And stain'd with blood from self-inflicted wounds, 
He burst into the public place, as there, 
There only, were his refuge ; and declar'd 
In broken words, with sighs of deep regret. 
The mortal danger he had scarce repell'd. 
Fir'd with his tragic tale, the indignant crowd 
To guard his steps, forthwith a menial band, 
Array'd beneath his eye for deeds of war. 
Decree. O still too liberal of their trust, 
And oft betray'd by over-grateful love, ro 

The generous people ! Now behold him fenc'd 
By mercenary weapons, like a king, 



254 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Forth issuing from the city-gate at eve 

To seek liis rural mansion, and with pomp 

Crowding the public road. The swain stops short, 

And sighs ; the olficious townsmen stand at gaze, 

And shrinking give the sullen pageant room. 

Yet not the less obsequious was his brow ; 

Nor less profuse of courteous words his tongue, 

Of gracious gifts his hand : the while by stealth. 

Like a small torrent fed with evening showers, so 

His train increas'd ; till at that fatal time, 

Just as the public eye, with doubt and shame 

Startled, began to question what it saw, 

Swift as the sound of earthquakes rush'd a voice 

Through Athens, that Pisistratus had fill'd 

The rocky citadel with hostile arms. 

Had barr'd the steep ascent, and sate within 

Amid his hirelings, meditating death 

To all whose stubborn necks his yoke refus'd. 90 

Where then was Solon ? After ten long years 

Of absence, full of haste from foreign shores 

The sage, the lawgiver had now arriv'd ; 

Arriv'd, alas ! to see that Athens, that 

Fair temple rais'd by him and sacred call'd 

To Liberty and Concord, now profan'd 

By savage hate, or sunk into a den 

Of slaves who crouch beneath the master's scourge. 

And deprecate his wrath and court his chains. 

Yet did not the wise patriot's grief impede 100 

His virtuous will, nor was his heart inclin'd 

One moment with such woman-like distress 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 255 

To view the transient storms of civil war, 
As thence to yield his country and her hopes 
To all-devouring bondage. His bright helm, 
Even while the traitor's impious act is told, 
He buckles on his hoary head ; he girds 
With mail his stooping breast; the shield, the spear 
He snatcheth ; and with swift indignant strides 
The assembled people seeks ; proclaims aloud no 
It was no time for counsel ; in their spears 
Lay all their jirudence now ; the tyrant yet 
AVas not so firmly seated on his throne. 
But that one shock of their united force 
Would dash him from the summit of his pride 
Headlong and grovelling in the dust. " What else 
Can re-assert the lost Athenian name 
So cheaply to the laughter of the world 
Betray'd ; by guile beneath an infant's faith 
So mock'd and scorn'd ? Away, then : Freedom now 
And Safety dwell not but with Fame in Arms : 121 
Myself will show you where their mansion lies. 
And through the walks of Danger or of Death 
Conduct you to them." While he spake, through all 
Their crowded ranks his quick sagacious eye 
He darted ; where no cheerful voice was heard 
Of social daring ; no stretch'd arm was seen 
Hastening their common task : but pale mistrust 
Wrinkled each brow ; they shook their heads, and 

down 
Their slack hands hung ; cold sighs and whisper'd 

doubts 130 



256 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

From breatli to breatli stole round. The sage 

meantime 
Look'd speec'liless on, while his big bosom heav'd 
Struggling with shame and sorrow : till at last 
A tear broke forth ; and, " immortal shades, 
O Theseus," he exclaim'd, " O Codrus, where, 
"Where are ye now ? behold for what ye toil'd 
Through life! behold for whom ye chose to die." 
No more he added ; but with lonely steps 
Weary and slow, his silver beard depress'd. 
And his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground. 
Back to his silent dwelling he repair'd. i4i 

There o'er the gate, his armour, as a man 
Whom from the service of the war his chief 
Dismisseth after no inglorious toil. 
He fix'd in general view. One wishful look 
He sent, unconscious, toward the public place 
At parting ; then beneath his quiet roof 
Without a word, without a sigh, retir'd. 

Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays 
From sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes lao 
Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores. 
When, lo, on Solon's threshold met the feet 
Of four Athenians by the same sad care 
Conducted all ; than whom the state beheld 
None nobler. First came Megacles, the son 
Of great Alcmaion, whom the Lydian king, 
The mild, unliappy Croesus, in his days 
Of glory had with costly gifts adorn'd. 
Fair vessels, splendid garments, tinctur'd webs 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 257 

And heaps of treasur'd gold, beyond the lot leo 
Of many sovereigns ; thus requiting well 
That hospitable favour which erewhile 
Alcma3on to his messengers had shown, 
Whom he with offerings worthy of the god 
Sent from his throne in Sardis to revere 
Apollo's Delphic shrine. With Megacles 
Approach'd his son, whom Agarista bore, 
The virtuous child of Clisthenes whose hand 
Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far 
In Sicyon sway'd ; but greater fame he drew ito 
From arms controll'd by justice, from the love 
Of the wise Muses, and the unenvied wreath 
Which glad Olympia gave. For thither once 
His warlike steeds the hero led, and there 
Contended through the tumult of the course 
With skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal. 
Amid the applauses of assembled Greece, 
High on his car he stood and wav'd his arm. 
Silence ensued ; when straight the herald's voice 
Was heard, inviting every Grecian youth, i8o 

Whom Clisthenes content might call his son, 
To visit, ere twice thirty days were pass'd. 
The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed, 
Within the circuit of the following year. 
To join at Hymen's altar, hand in hand 
With his fair daughter, him among the guests 
Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from 

all 
The bounds of Greece the ambitious wooers came : 



258 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

From rich Hesperia ; from the Illyrian shore 
Where Epidamiius over Adria's surge 190 

Looks on the setting sun ; from those brave tribes 
Chaonian or Molossian, whom the race 
. Of great Achilles governs, glorying still 
In Troy o'erthrown ; from rough -3i^tolia, nurse 
Of men who first among the Greeks threw off 
The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms 
Devoted ; from Thessalia's fertile meads, 
Where flows Peneus near the lofty walls 
Of Cranon old ; from stron,g Eretria, queen 
Of all Euboean cities, who, sublime 200 

On the steep margin of Euripus, views 
Across the tide the Marathonian plain, 
Not yet the haunt of glory. Athens too, 
Minerva's care, among her graceful sons 
Found equal lovers for the princely maid : 
Nor was proud Argos wanting ; nor the domes 
Of sacred Elis ; nor the Arcadian groves 
That overshade Alpheus, echoing oft 
Some shepherd's song. But through the illus- 
trious band 
Was none who might with Megacles compare 210 
In all the honours of unblemish'd youth. 
His was the beauteous bride : and now their son 
Young Clisthenes, betimes, at Solon's gate 
Stood anxious ; leaning forward on the arm 
Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that ask'd 
When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet, 
And cheeks now pale, now glowing : for his heart 



IMA.GINATION. BOOK III. 259 

Throbb'd full of bursting passions, anger, grief 

With scorn imbitter'd, by the generous boy . 

Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds, 

Are destiu'd for his country and himself 221 

In riper years to bring forth fruits divine 

Of liberty and glory. Next appear'd 

Two brave companions, whom one mother bore 

To different lords ; but whom the better ties 

Of firm esteem and friendship render'd more 

Than brothers : first Miltiades, who drew 

From godlike iEacus his ancient line ; 

That ^acus whose unimpeach'd renown 

For sanctity and justice won the lyre aw 

Of elder bards to celebrate him thron'd 

In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees 

The guilty soul within the burning gates 

Of Tartarus compel, or send the good 

To inhabit with eternal health and peAce 

The valleys of Elysium. From a stem 

So sacred, ne'er could worthier scion spring 

Than this Miltiades ; whose aid ere long 

The chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways 

Sent by the inspir'd foreknowing maid who sits 

Upon the Delphic tripod, shall implore 241 

To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth 

Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect 

With arms and laws. But, nothing careful now 

Save for his injur'd country, here he stands 

In deep solicitude with Cimon join'd ; 

Unconscious both what widely different lots 



260 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Await them, taught by nature as they are 

To know one common good, one common ill. 

For Cimon, not his valour, not his birth m 

Deriv'd from Codriis, not a thousand gifts 

Dealt round him with a wise, benignant hand ; 

No, not the Olympic olive by himself 

From his own brow transferr'd to soothe the mind 

Of this Pisistratus, can long preserve 

From the fell envy of the tyrant's sons, 

And their assassin dagger. But if death 

Obscure upon his gentle steps attend, 

Yet fate an ample recompense prepares 

In his victorious son, that other great 260 

Miltiades, who o'er the very throne 

Of glory shall, with Time's assiduous hand. 

In adamantine characters engrave 

The name of Athens ; and, by Freedom arm'd 

*Gainst the gigantic pride of Asia's king, 

Shall all the achievements of the heroes old 

Surmount, of Hercules, of all who sail'd 

From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought 

For empire or for fame at Thebes or Troy. 

Such were the patriots who within the porch 
Of Solon had assembled. But the gate 2T1 

Now opens, and across the ample floor 
Straight they proceed into an open space 
Bright with the beams of morn ; a verdant spot, 
Where stands a rural altar, pil'd with sods 
Cut from the grassy turf, and girt with wreaths 
Of branching palm. Here Solon's self tfcey found 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 261 

Clad in a robe of purple pure, and deck'd 
With leaves of olive on his reverend brow. 
He bow'd before the altar, and o'er cakes 28c 

Of barley from two earthen vessels pour'd 
Of honey and of milk a plenteous stream ; 
Calling meantime the Muses to accept 
His simple offering, by no victim ting'd 
With blood, nor sullied by destroying fire ; 
But such as for himself Apollo claims 
In his own Delos, where his favourite haunt 
Is thence the Altar of the Pious nam'd. 
Unseen the guests drew near, and silent view'd 
That worship ; till the hero-priest his eye 290 

Turn'd toward a seat on which prepar'd there lay 
A branch of laurel. Then his friends confess'd 
Before him stood. Backward his step he drew, 
As loth that care or tumult should approach 
Those early rights divine ; but soon their looks 
So anxious, and their hands held forth with such 
Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce 
To speak to their affliction. " Are ye come," 
He cried, " to mourn with me this common shame ? 
Or ask ye some new effort which may break 300 
Our fetters ? Know, then, of the public cause 
Not for yon traitor's cunning or his might 
Do I despair ; nor could I wish from Jove 
Aught dearer, than at this late hour of hfe, 
As once by laws, so now by strenuous arms, 
From impious violation to assert 
The rights our fathers left us. But, alas I 



262 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

What arms ? or who shall wield them ? Ye beheld 

The Athenian people. Many bitter days 

Must pass, and many wounds from cruel pride sio 

Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room 

For just resentment, or their hands endure 

To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all 

Their hopes, so oft admir'd, so long belov'd. 

That time will come, however. Be it yours 

To watch its fair approach, and urge it on 

"With honest prudence : me it ill beseems 

Again to supplicate the unwilling crowd 

To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold 

That envied power which once with eager zeal 320 

They offered to myself; nor can I plunge 

In counsels deep and various, nor prepare 

For distant wars, thus faltering as I tread 

On life's last verge, ere long to join the shades 

Of Minos and Lycurgus. But behold 

What care employs me now. My vows I pay 

To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth 

And solace of my age. If right I deem 

Of the still voice that whispers at my heart, 

The immortal sisters have not quite withdrawn 83o 

Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues 

With sacred silence favour what I speak, 

And haply shall my faithful lips be taught 

To unfold celestial counsels, which may arm 

As with impenetrable steel your breasts 

For the long strife before you, and repel 

The darts of adverse fate." He said, and snatch'd 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 263 

The laurel bough, and sate in silence down, 
Fix'd, wrapp'd in solemn musing, full before 
The sun, who now from all his radiant orb 840 

Drove the gray clouds, and pour'd his genial light 
Upon the breast of Solon. Solon rais'd 
Aloft the leafy rod, and thus began : 

" Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove 
And Memory divine, Pierian maids, 
Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life. 
When hope shone bright and all the prospect smil'd, 
To your sequester'd mansion oft my steps 
"Were turn'd, O Muses, and within your gate 
My offerings paid. Ye taught me then with strains 
Of flowing harmony to soften war's 85i 

Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm 
The public eye, to clothe the form austere 
Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age 
Neglected, and supplanted of the hope 
On which it lean'd, yet sinks not, but to you, 
To your mild wisdom flies, refuge belov'd 
Of solitude and silence. Ye can teach 
The visions of my bed whate'er the gods 
In the rude ages of the world inspir'd, seo 

Or the first heroes acted ; ye can make 
The morning light more gladsome to my sense 
Than ever it appear'd to active youth 
Pursuing careless pleasure ; ye can give 
To this long leisure, these unheeded hours, 
A labour as sublime as when the sons 
Of Athens throng'd and speechless round me stood 



264 THE PLEASURES OP THE 

To hear pronoun c'd for all their future deeds 
The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial powers ! 
I feel that ye are near me : and behold sro 

To meet your energy divine, I bring 
A high and sacred theme ; not less than those 
Which to the eternal custody of Fame 
Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deign'd 
With Orpheus or with Homer to frequent 
The groves of Haemus or the Chian shore. 

" Ye know, harmonious maids, (for what of all 
My various life was e'er from you estrang'd ?) 
Oft hath my solitary song to you 
ReveaFd that duteous pride which turn'd my steps 
To willing exile ; earnest to withdraw asi 

From envy and the disappointed thirst 
Of lucre, lest the bold familiar strife, 
Which in the eye of Athens they upheld 
Against her legislator, should impair 
With trivial doubt the reverence of his laws. 
To Egypt, therefore, through the -^gean isles, 
My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Nile 
Dwelt in Canopus. Thence the hallow'd domes 
Of Sai's, and the rites to Isis paid, 390 

I sought, and in her temple's silent courts, 
Through many changing moons, attentive heard 
The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue 
At morn or midnight the deep story told 
Of her who represents whate'er has been, 
Or is, or shall be ; whose mysterious veil 
No mortal hand hath ever yet remov'd. 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 265 

By him exhorted, southward to the walls 
Of On I pass'd, the city of the sun, 
The ever-youthful god. 'Twas there, amid 400 
His priests and sages, who the livelong night 
Watch the dread movements of the starry sphere, 
Or who in wondrous fables half disclose 
The secrets of the elements, 'twas there 
That great Psenophis taught my raptur'd ears 
The fame of old Atlantis, of her chiefs, 
And her pure laws, the first which earth obeyed. 
Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale ; 
And often, while I listen'd, did my mind 
Foretell with what delight her own free lyre 410 
Should sometime for an Attic audience raise 
Anew that lofty scene, and from their tombs 
Call forth those ancient demigods to speak 
Of Justice and the hidden Providence 
That walks among mankind. But yet meantime 
The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons 
Became less pleasing. With contempt I gaz'd 
On that tame garb and those unvarying paths 
To which the double yoke of king and priest 
Had cramp'd the sullen race. At last, with hymns 
Invoking our own Pallas and the gods m 

Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave 
To Egypt, and before the southern wind 
Spread my full sails. What climes I then survey'd, 
What fortunes I encounter'd in the realm 
Of Croesus or upon the Cyprian shore. 
The Muse, who prompts my bosom, doth not now 
S 



266 THK PLICASUKES OF THE 

Consent that I reveal. But wluni at length 
Ten times the sun returning from the south 
Had atrew'd with flowers the verdant earth,and fiU'd 
The groves with niusie, pleas'd I then beheld «! 
The term of those long errors drawing nigh. 
* Nor yet,' I said, * will I sit down witliin 
The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod 
The Cretan soil, have pierc'd those reverend haunts 
Whenee Law and Civil Concord issued forth 
As from their ancient home, and still to Greece 
Tlieir wisest, loftiest discipline proclaim.' 
Straight where Amnisus, mart of wealthy ships, 
Appears beneath fam'd Cnossus and her towers, 
Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen, 44i 

1 check'd my prow, and tlience with eager steps 
The city of Minos enter'd. O ye gods. 
Who taught the leaders of the simpler time 
By written words to curb the untoward will 
Of mortals, how within that generous isle 
ILave ye the triumphs of your power display'd 
Munificent ! Tliose si)lendid merchants, lords 
Of traffic and the sea, with what delight 
I saw them at their j)ublic meal, like sons <« 

Of the same household, join the plainer sort 
Wliose wealth was oidy f rerulom ! whence to these 
Vile envy, and to those fantastic pride. 
Alike was strange ; but noble concord still 
Ciierish'd the strengtli untam'd, tlie rustic faith. 
Of their first fatliers. Then the growing race. 
How pleasing to behold tliem in their schools, 



IMAGINATION. DOOK IH. 207 

Their sports, their labours, ever plac'd witliin, 

O shade of Minos! thy controlling eye. 

Here was a docile band in tuneful tones 40. 

Thy laws pronouncing, or with lofty hymns 

Praising the bounteous gods, or, to preserve 

Their country's heroes from oblivious nigiit, 

Resounding what the Muse inspir'd of ohl ; 

There, on tlie verge of manhood, others met. 

In heavy armour through the boats of noon 

To march, the rugged mountain's height to climb 

With measur'd swiftness, from the hard-bent bow 

To send resistless arrows to their mark, 

Or for the fame of prowess to contend, 470 

Now wrestling, now with fists and staves oppos'd, 

Now with the biting falchion, and the fence 

Of brazen shields ; while still the warbling flute 

Presided o'er the combat, breathing strains 

Grave, solemn, soft ; and changing headlong spite 

To thoughtful resolution cool and clear. 

Such I behchl thosci ishmders renown'd, 

So tutor'd from their birth to meet in war 

Each bold invader, and in peace to guard 

That living Hame of reverence for their laws 48o 

Which nor tlie storms of fortune, nor tiie flood 

Of foreign wealth difFus'd o'er all the land, 

CouKl (juench or slacken. First of human names 

In every Cretan's heart was Minos still; 

And holiest far, of what the sun surveys 

Thro' his whole course, were those primeval seats 

Which with religious footsteps he had taught 



268 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

Their sires to approach ; the wild Dictsean cave 

Where Jove was born ; the ever-verdant meads 

Of Ida, and the spacious grotto,' where 49<J 

His active youth he pass'd, and wliere his throne 

Yet stands mysterious ; whither Minos came 

Each ninth returning year, the king of gods 

And mortals there in secret to consult 

On justice, and the tables of his law 

To inscribe anew. Oft also with like zeal 

Great Rhea's mansion from the Cnossian gates 

Men visit ; nor less oft the antique fane 

Built on that sacred spot, along the banks 

Of shady Theron, where benignant Jove wo 

And his majestic consort join'd their hands 

And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas ! 'twas there 

That the dire fame of Athens sunk in bonds 

I first receiv'd ; what time an annual feast 

Had summon'd all the genial country round, 

By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind 

That first great spousal; while the enamour'd youths 

And virgins, with the priest before the shrine, 

Observe the same pure ritual, and invoke 

The same glad omens. There, among the crowd 

Of strangers from those naval cities drawn sn 

Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore, 

A merchant of iEgina I descried. 

My ancient host ; but, forward as I sprung 

To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow, 

Stopp'd half averse ; and, ' O Athenian guest,* 

He said, ' art thou in Crete ; these joyful rite8 



IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 269 

Partaking ? Know thy laws are blotted out : 
Thy country kneels before a tyrant's throne.' 
He added names of men, with hostile deeds 620 
Disastrous ; which obscure and indistinct 
I heard : for, while he spake, my heart grew cold 
And my eyes dim ; the altars and their train 
No more were present to me : how I far'd, 
Or whither turn'd, I know not ; nor recall 
Aught of those moments other than the sense 
Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep, 
And, from the toils oC some distressful dream 
To break away, with palpitating heart, 
Weak limbs, and temples bath'd in death-like dew, 
Makes many a painful effort. When at last 53i 
The sun and nature's face again appear' d, 
Not far I found me ; where the public path, 
Winding thro' cypress groves and sweUing meads, 
From Cnossus to the cave of Jove ascends. 
Heedless I follow'd on ; till soon the skirts 
Of Ida rose before me, and the vault 
Wide opening pierc'd the mountain's rocky side. 
Entering within the threshold, on the ground 
I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil." mo 

« « » « « 



270 THE PLEASURES OF THE 



THE BEGLNNING OF THE 

FOURTH BOOK OF THE PLEASURES OF THE 
IMAGINATION. 1770. 

One effort more, one cheerful sally more, 
Our destin'd course will finish ; and in peace 
Then, for an offering sacred to the powers 
Who lent us gracious guidance, we will then 
Inscribe a monument of deathless praise, 
O my adventurous song ! With steady speed 
Long hast thou, on an untried voyage bound, 
Sail'd between earth and heaven : hast now sur- 

vey'd, 
Stretch'd out beneath thee, all the mazy tracts 
Of Passion and Opinion ; like a waste w 

Of sands and flowery lawns and tangling woods, 
Where mortals roam bewilder'd : and hast now 
Exulting soar'd among the worlds above, 
Or hover'd near the eternal gates of heaven. 
If haply the discourses of the gods, 
A curious, but an unpresuming guest. 
Thou might'st partake, and carry back some strain 
Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat. 
And apt to be conceiv'd of man below. 
A different task remains : the secret paths ao 

Of early genius to explore ; to trace 
Those haunts where Fancy her predestin'd sons, 



IMAGINATION. BOOK IV. 271 

Like to the demigods of old, doth nurse 

Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy souls 

Who now her tender discipline obey, 

Where dwell ye ? What wild river's brink at eve 

Imprint your steps ? What solemn groves at noon 

Use ye to visit, often breaking forth 

In rapture 'mid your dilatory walk, 

Or musing, as in slumber, on the green ? • ao 

— Would I again were with you ! — O ye dales 

Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands ; where 

Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides. 

And his banks open, and his lawns extend, 

Stops short the pleased traveller to view, 

Presiding o'er the scene, some rustic tower 

Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands ; 

ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook 
The rocky pavement and the mossy falls 

Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream ; « 

How gladly I recall your well-known seats 
Belov'd of old, and that delightful time 
When all alone, for many a summer's day, 

1 wander'd through your calm recesses, led 
In silence by some powerful hand unseen ! 

Nor will I e'er forget you ; nor shall e'er 
The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice 
Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim 
Those studies which possess'd me in the dawn 
Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind « 

For every future year : whence even now 
From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn, 



272 THE PLEASURES OF THE 

And, while the world around lies overwhelm'd 
In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts 
Of honourable fame, of truth divine 
Or moral, and of minds to virtue won 
By the sweet magic of harmonious verse ; 
The themes which now expect us. For thus far 
On general habits, and on arts which grow 
Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind, « 

Hath dwelt our argument ; and how self-taught, 
Though seldom conscious of their own employ, 
In Nature's or in Fortune's changeful scene 
Men learn to judge of Beauty, and acquire 
Those forms set up, as idols in the soul 
For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct, 
In vulgar bosoms, and unnotic'd, lie 
These pleasing stores, unless the casual force 
Of things external prompt the heedless mind 
To recognize her wealth. But some there are ? 
Conscious of Nature, and the rule which man 
O'er Nature holds : some who, within themselves 
Retiring from the trivial scenes of chance 
And momentary passion, can at will 
Call up these fair exemplars of the mind ; 
Review their features ; scan the secret laws 
Which bind them to each other ; and display 
By forms or sounds or colours, to the sense 
Of all the world their latent charms display : 
Even as in Nature's frame (if such a word, s 

If such a word, so bold, may from the lips 
Of man proceed), as in this outward frame 



IMAGINATION. BOOK IV. 273 

Of things, the great Artificer portrays 
His own immense idea. Various names 
These among mortals bear, as various signs 
They use, and by peculiar organs speak 
To human sense. There are who by the flight 
Of air through tubes with moving stops distinct, 
Or by extended chords in measure taught 
To vibrate, can assemble powerful sounds so 

Expressing every temper of the mind 
From every cause, and charming all the soul 
With passion void of care. Others meantime 
The rugged mass of metal, wood, or stone, 
Patiently taming ; or with easier hand 
Describing lines, and with more ample scope 
Uniting colours, — can to general sight 
Produce those permanent and perfect forms, 
Those characters of heroes and of gods. 
Which from the crude materials of the world, loo 
Their own high minds created. But the chief 
Are poets ; eloquent men, who dwell on earth 
To clothe whate'er the soul admires or loves 
With language and with numbers. Hence to these 
A field is open'd wide as Nature's sphere ; 
Nay, wider : various as the sudden acts 
Of human wit, and vast as the demands 
Of human will. The bard nor length nor depth, 
Nor place nor form controls. To eyes, to ears. 
To every organ of the copious mind, no 

He offereth all its treasures. Him the hours, 
The seasons him obey ; and changeful Time 



274 PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. 
I 

Sees him at will keep measure with his flight, 

At will outstrip it. To enhance his toil, 

He suramoneth from the uttermost extent 

Of things which God hath taught him, every form 

Auxiliar, every power; and all beside 

Excludes imperious. His prevailing hand 

Gives to corporeal essence life and sense. 

And every stately function of the soul. 120 

The soul itself to him obsequious lies, 

Like matter's passive heap ; and as he wills 

To reason and affection he assigns 

Their just alliances, their just degrees: 

Whence his peculiar honours ; whence the race 

Of men who people his delightful world, 

Men genuine and according to themselves, 

Transcend as far the uncertain sons of earth, 

As earth itself to his delightful world, 

The palm of spotless Beauty doth resign. uo 



275 
ODES ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS, 

IN TWO BOOKS. 



• BOOK I. — ODE L^ 

PREFACE. 
I. 

On yonder verdant hillock laid, 
Where oaks and elms, a friendly shade, 

O'erlook the falling stream, 
O master of the Latin lyre. 
Awhile with thee will I retire 

From summer's noontide beam. 
II. 
And lo, within my lonely bower, 
The industrious bee from many a flower 

Collects her balmy dews : 
" For me," she sings, " the gems are born, 
For me their silken robe adorn. 

Their fragant breath diffuse." 

in. 
Sweet murmurer ! may no rude storm 
This hospitable scene deform. 

Nor check thy gladsome toils ; 
Still may the buds unsullied spring. 
Still showers and sunshine court thy wing 

To these ambrosial spoils. 



276 ODES. 

IV. 
Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail 
Her fellow-labourer thee to hail ; 

And lucky be the strains ! 
For long ago did Nature frame 
Your seasons and your arts the same, 

Your pleasures and your pains. 

V. 
Like thee, in lowly, sylvan scenes. 
On river banks and flowery greens. 

My Muse delighted plays ; 
Nor through the desert of the air. 
Though swans or eagles triumph there, 

With fond ambition strays. 

VI. 

Nor where the boding raven ch aunts. 
Nor near the owl's unhallow'd haunts, 

Will she her cares employ ; 
But flies from ruins and from tombs. 
From Superstition's horrid glooms. 

To daylight and to joy. 

vn. 

Nor will she tempt the barren waste ; 
Nor deigns the lurking strength to taste 

Of any noxious thing ; 
But leaves with scorn to Envy's use 
The insipid nightshade's baneful juice. 

The nettle's sordid sting. 



BOOK I. 277 



VIII. 
From all which Nature fairest knows, 
The vernal blooms, the summer rose. 

She draws her blameless wealth ; 
And when the generous task is done, 
She consecrates a double boon 

To Pleasure and to Health. 



ODE 11.2 

ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE. 1740. 
I. 

The radiant ruler of the year 
At length his wintry goal attains ; 
Soon to reverse the long career, 
And northward bend his steady reins. 
Now, piercing half- Potosi's height. 
Prone rush the fiery floods of light. 
Ripening the mountain's silver stores : 
While, in some cavern's horrid shade. 
The panting Indian hides his head. 
And oft the approach of .eve implores, 
n. 

But lo, on this deserted coast 
How pale the sun ! how thick the air ! 
Mustering his storms, a sordid host, 
Lo, Winter desolates the year. 
The fields resign their latest bloom ; 
No more the breezes waft perfume, 



278 ODES. 

No more the streams in music roll : 
But snows fall dark, or rains resound ; 
And, while great Nature mourns around, 
Her griefs infect the human soul. 

m. 

Hence the loud city's busy throngs 
Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire : 
Harmonious dances, festive songs, 
Against the spiteful heaven conspire. 
Meantime, perhaps, with tender fears, 
Some village dame the curfew hears, 
While round the hearth her children play : 
At morn their father went abroad ; 
The moon is sunk, and deep the road ; 
She sighs, and wonders at his stay. 

IV. 
But thou, my lyre, awake, arise, 
And hail the sun's returning force : 
Even now he climbs the northern skies, 
And health and hope attend his course. 
Then louder howl the aerial waste. 
Be earth with keener cold embrac'd. 
Yet gentle hours advance their wing ; 
And Fancy, mocking Winter's might. 
With flowers and dews and streaming light 
Already decks the new-born spring. 

V. 
O fountain of the golden day. 
Could mortal vows promote thy speed, 



BOOK I. 



279 



How soon before thy vernal ray 
Should each unkindly damp recede ! 
How soon each hoverhig tempest fly, 
Whose stores for mischief arm the sky, 
Prompt on our heads to burst amain, 
To rend the forest from the steep, 
Or, thundering o'er the Baltic deep. 
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain I 

VI. 
But let not man's unequal views 
Presume o'er Nature and her laws : 
'Tis his with grateful joy to use 
The indulgence of the Sovereign Cause ; 
Secure that health and beauty springs 
Through this majestic frame of things, 
Beyond what he can reach to know ; 
And that Heaven's all-subduing will, 
With good, the progeny of ill. 
Attemper eth every state below. 

VII. 
How pleasing wears the wintry night, 
Spent with the old illustrious dead ! 
While, by the taper's trembling light, 
I seem those awful scenes to tread 
Where chiefs or legislators lie, 
Whose triumphs move before my eye 
In arms and antique pomp array'd ; 
While now I taste the Ionian song, 
Now bend to Plato's godlike tongue 
Resounding through the olive shade. 



280 ODES. 

VIII. 
But should some cheerful, equal friend 
Bid leave the studious page awhile, 
Let mirth on wisdom then attend, 
And social ease on learned toil. 
Then while, at love's uncareful shrine, 
Each dictates to the god of wine 
Her name whom all his hopes obey, 
What flattering dreams each bosom warm, 
While absence, heightening every charm, 
Invokes the slow-returning May ! 

IX. 
May, thou delight of heaven and earth. 
When will thy genial star arise ? 
The auspicious morn, wliich gives thee birth, 
Shall bring Eudora to my eyes. 
Within her sylvan haunt behold, 
As in the happy garden old, 
She moves like that primeval fair : 
Thither, ye silver-SQunding lyres. 
Ye tender smiles, ye chaste desires, 
Fond hope and mutual faith, repair. 

X. 

And if believing love can read 

His better omens in her eye. 

Then shall my fears, charming maid, 

And every pain of absence die : 

Then shall my jocund harp, attun'd 

To thy true ear, with sweeter sound 



BOOK I. 281 



Pursue the free Horatian song ; 
Old Tyne shall listen to my tale, 
And Echo, down the bordering vale, 
The liquid melody prolong. 



FOE THE WINTER SOLSTICE, DECEMBER 11, 1740. 
AS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN. 

Now to the utmost southern goal 
The sun has trac'd his annual way, 
And backward now prepares to roll, 
And bless the north with earlier day. 
Prone on Potosi's lofty brow 
Floods of sublimer splendour flow. 
Ripening the latent seeds of gold ; 
Whilst, panting in the lonely shade, 
Th' afflicted Indian hides his head, 
Nor dares the blaze of noon behold. 

But lo ! on this deserted coast 
How faint the light, how chill the air ! 
Lo ! arm'd with whirlwind, hail, and frost, 
Fierce Winter desolates the year. 
The fields resign their cheerful bloom^ 
No more the breezes breathe perfume, 
No mare the warbling waters roll ; 
Deserts of snow fatigue the eye. 
Successive tempests bloat the sky, 
And gloomy damps oppress the soul. 

T 



282 ODES. 

But let my drooping genius rise, 
And hail the sun's remotest ray : 
Now, now he climbs the northern skies, 
To-morrow nearer than to-day. 
Then louder howl the stormy waste, 
Be land and ocean worse defac'd. 
Yet brighter hours are on the wing. 
And Fancy, through the wintry gloom. 
Radiant with dews, and flowers in bloom, 
Already hails th* emerging spring. 

O fountain of the golden day ! 
Could mortal vows but urge thy speed. 
How soon before thy vernal ray 
Should each unkindly damp recede ! 
How soon each tempest hovering fly, 
That now fermenting loads the sky. 
Prompt on our heads to burst amain. 
To rend the forest from the steep. 
And, thundering o'er the Baltic deep. 
To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain I 

But let not man's imperfect views 
Presume to tax wise Nature's laws : 
'Tis his with silent joy to use 
Th' indulgence of the Sovereign Cause ; 
Secure that from the whole of things 
Beauty and good consummate springs, 
Beyond what he can reach to know. 
And that the providence of Heaven 



BOOK L 283 

Has some peculiar blessing given 
To each allotted state below. 

Even now how sweet the wintry night 
Spent with the old illustrious dead ! 
While, by the taper's trembling light, 
I seem those awful courts to tread, 
Where^ chiefs and legislators lie, 
Whose triumphs move before my eye, 
With every laurel fresh display 'd ; 
While charm'd I rove in classic song. 
Or bend to freedom's fearless tongue, 
Or walk the academic shade. 



ODE UV 

TO A FKIEND UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE. 
I. 

Indeed, my Phsedria, if to find 
That wealth can female wishes gain, 
Had e'er disturb'd your thoughtful mind, 
Or caus'd one serious moment's pain, 
I should have said that all the rules 
You learn'd of moralists and schools 
Were very useless, very vain. 

n. 
Yet I perhaps mistake the case — 
Say, though with this heroic air. 
Like one that holds a nobler chase, 
You try the tender loss to bear. 



284 ODES. 

Does not your heart renounce your tongue ? 
Seems not my censure strangely wrong 
To count it such a slight affair ? 

III. 
When Hesper gilds the shaded sky, 
Oft as you seek the well-known grove, 
Methinks I see you cast your eye 
Back to the morning scenes of love : 
Each pleasing word you heard her say, 
Her gentle look, her graceful way, 
Again your struggling fancy move. 

IV. 
Then tell me, is your soul entire ? 
Does Wisdom calmly hold her throne ? 
Then can you question each desire, 
Bid this remain, and that be gone ? 
No tear half-starting from your eye ? 
No kindling blush you know not why ? 
No stealing sigh, nor stifled groan ? 

V. 
Away with this unmanly mood ! 
See where the hoary churl appears, 
Whose hand hath seiz'd the favourite good 
Which you reserv'd for happier years ; 
While, side by side, the blushing maid 
Shrinks from his visage, half afraid. 
Spite of the sickly joy she wears. 

VI. 
Ye guardian powers of love and fame, 
This chaste, harmonious pair behold ; 



BOOK I. 285 

And thus reward the generous flame , 
Of all who barter vows for gold. 
O bloom of youth ! O tender charms 
Well-buried in a dotard's arms ! 
O equal price of beauty sold ! 

VII. 
Cease then to gaze with looks of love ; 
Bid her adieu, the venal fair : 
Unworthy shf your bliss to prove ; 
Then wherefore should she prove your care ? 
No : lay your myrtle garland down ; 
And let awhile the willow's crown 
With luckier omens bind your hair. 

VIII. 
O just escap'd the faithless main, 
Though driven unwilling on the land, 
To guide your favour'd steps again, 
Behold your better Genius stand : 
Where Truth revolves her page divine, 
Where Virtue leads to Honour's shrine, 
Behold, he lifts his awful hand. 

IX. 
Fix but on these your ruling aim, 
And Time, the sire of manly care, 
Will fancy's dazzling colours tame ; 
A soberer dress will beauty wear : 
Then shall esteem, by knowledge led, 
Inthrone within your heart and head 
Some happier love, some truer fair. 



286 ODES. 



ODE IV. 



AFFECTED INDIFFERENCE. TO THE SAME. 
I. 

Yes : you contemn the perjur'd maid 
Who all your favourite hopes betray'd ; 
Nor, though her heart should lome return, 
Her tuneful tongue its falsehood mourn, 
Her winning eyes your faith implore, 
Would you her hand receive again. 
Or once dissemble your disdain, 
Or listen to the siren's theme, 
Or stoop to love ; since now esteem. 
And confidence, and friendship, is no more. 

n. 

Yet tell me, Phaedria, tell me why. 
When summoning your pride you try 
To meet her looks with cool neglect, 
Or cross her walk with slight respect, 
(For so is falsehood best repaid) 
Whence do your cheeks indignant glow ? 
Why is your struggling tongue so slow ? 
What means that darkness on your brow ? 
As if with all her broken vow 
You meant the fair apostate to upbraid ? 



BOOK I. 287 

ODE v.* 

AGAINST SUSPICION. 
I. 

Oh fly ! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien ; 
And, meditating plagues unseen, 

The sorceress hither bends : 
Behold her torch in gall imbrued ; 
Behold — her garment drops with blood 

Of lovers and of friends. 

II. 
Flj far ! Already in your eyes 
I see a pale suffusion rise ; 

And soon through every vein, 
Soon will her secret venom spread, 
And all your heart and all your head 

Imbibe the potent stain. 
III. 
Then many a demon will she raise 
To vex your sleep, to haunt your ways ; 

While gleams of lost delight 
Raise the dark tempest of the brain, 
As lightning shines across the main 

Through whirlwinds and through night. 

IV. 
No more can faith or candour move ; 
But each ingenuous deed of love, 
Which reason would applaud. 



288 ODES. 

Now, smiling o'er her dark distress, 
Fancy malignant strives to dress 

Like injury and fraud. 
V. 
Farewell to virtue's peaceful times : 
Soon will you stoop to act the crimes 

Which thus you stoop to fear : 
Guilt follows guilt ; and where the train 
Begins with wrongs of such a stain, 

What horrors form the rear ! 
VI. 
*Tis thus to work her baleful power. 
Suspicion waits the sullen hour 

Of fretfulness and strife, 
When care the infirmer bosom wrings, 
Or Eurus waves his murky wings 

To damp the seats of life, 
vn. 
But come, forsake the scene unbless'd 
Which first beheld your faithful breast 

To groundless fears a prey : 
Come, where with my prevailing lyre 
The skies, the streams, the groves conspire 

To charm your doubts away, 
vni. 
Thron'd in the sun's descending car. 
What power unseen diffuseth far 

This tenderness of mind? 
What Genius smiles on yonder flood ? 
What God, in whispers from the wood, 

Bids every thought be kind ? 



BOOK I. 
IX. 

O thou, whatever thy awful name, 
Whose wisdom our untoward frame 

AVith social love restrains ; 
Thou, who by fair affection's ties 
Giv'st us to double all our joys, 

And half disarm our pains ; 
X. 
* If far from Dyson and from me 
Suspicion took, by thy. decree, 

Her everlasting flight ; 
If firm on virtue's ample base 
Thy parent hand has deign'd to raise 

Our friendship's honour'd height ; 
XI. 
Let universal candour still, 
Clear as yon heaven-reflecting rill. 

Preserve my open mind ; 
Nor this nor that man's crooked ways 
One sordid doubt within me raise 

To injure human kind. 



ODE VL« 

HYMN TO CHEERFULNESS. 

How thick the shades of evening close ! 
How pale the sky with weight of snows ! 

* This stanza was found in a copy presented by Akenside 
to a friend.— Amer. ed., 1808. 



290 ODES. 

Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire, 
And bid the joyless day retire. 

Alas ! in vain I try within 

To brighten the dejected scene, 
While rous'd by grief these fiery pains 
Tear the frail texture of my veins ; 
While Winter's voice,*that storms around, 
And yon deep death-bell's groaning sound 
Renew my mind's oppressive gloom, 
Till starting Horror shakes the room. 

Is there in nature no kind power 
To soothe affliction's lonely hour ? 
To blunt the edge of dire disease, 
And teach these wintry shades to please ? 
Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant fair, 
Shine through the hovering cloud of care : 
O sweet of language, mild of. mien, 
O Virtue's friend and Pleasure's queen, 
Assuage the flames that burn my breast, 
Compose my jarring thoughts to rest; 
And while thy gracious gifts I feel, 
My song shall all thy praise reveal. 

As once ('twas in Astraea's reign) 
The vernal powers renew'd their train, 
It happen'd that immortal Love 
Was ranging through the spheres above, 
And downward hither cast his eye 
The year's returning pomp to spy. 
He saw the radiant god of day 
Waft in his car the rosy May ; 



BOOK I. 291 

The fragrant Airs and genial Hours 
Were shedding round him dews and flowers; 
Before his wheels Aurora jiass'd, 
And Hesper's golden lanii) was last. 
But, fairest of tlie blooming throng, 
When Health majestie mov'd along, 
Delighted to survey below 
The joys which from her presence flow, 
While earth enliven'd hears her voice, 
And swains and flocks and fields rejoice ; 
Then mighty Love her charms confess'd. 
And soon his vows inclin'd her breast. 
And, known from that auspicious morn, 
The pleasing Cheerfulness was born. 

Thou, Cheerfulness, by heaven design'd 
To sway the movements of the mind. 
Whatever fretful passion springs. 
Whatever wayward fortune brings 
To disarrange the power within. 
And strain the musical machine ; 
Thou Goddess, thy attempering hand 
Doth each discordant string command, 
Refines the soft, and swells the strong; 
And, joining Nature's general song, 
Through many a varying tone unfolds 
The harmony of human souls. 

Fair guardian of domestic life, 
Kind banisher of homebred strife, 
Nor sullen lip nor taunting eye 
Deforms the scene where thou Bit by : 



292 ODES. 

No sickening husband damns the hour 
Which bound his joys to female power; 
No pining mother weeps the cares 
Which parents waste on thankless heirs : 
The officious daughters pleas'd attend ; ' 
The brother adds the name of friend : 
By thee with flowers their board is crown'd, 
With songs from thee their walks resound ; 
And morn with welcome lustre shines, 
And evening unperceiv'd declines. 

Is there a youth, whose anxious heart 
Labours with love's unpitied smart ? 
Though now he stray by rills and bowers, 
And weeping waste the lonely hours, 
Or if the nymph her audience deign, 
Debase the story of his pain 
With slavish looks, discolour'd eyes, 
And accents faltering into sighs ; 
Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease 
Canst yield him happier arts to please, 
Inform his mien with manlier charms, 
Instruct his tongue with nobler arms. 
With more commanding passion move, 
And teach the dignity of love. 

Friend to the Muse and all her train. 
For thee I court the Muse again : 
The Muse for thee may well exert 
Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art. 
Who owes to thee that pleasing sway 
Which earth and peopled heaven obey. 



BOOK I. 298 

Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue 
Repeat what later bards have sung ; , ' 

But thine was Homer's ancient might, 
And thine victorious Pindar's flight : 
Thy hand each Lesbian wreath attir'd : 
Thy lip Sicilian reeds inspir'd : 
Thy spirit lent the glad perfume 
Whence yet the flowers of Teos bloom ; 
"Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale 
Delicious blows the enlivening gale, 
While Horace calls thy sportive choir. 
Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre. 
But see where yonder pensive sage 
(A prey perhaps to fortune's rage. 
Perhaps by tender griefs oppress'd. 
Or glooms congenial to his breast) 
Retires in desert scenes to dwell. 
And bids the joyless world farewell. 
Alone he treads the autumnal shade, 
Alone beneath the mountain laid 
He sees the nightly damps ascend. 
And gathering storms aloft impend ; 
He hears the neighbouring surges roll, 
And raging thunders shake the pole : 
Then, struck by every object round. 
And stunn'd by every horrid sound. 
He asks a clue for Nature's ways ; 
But evil haunts him through the maze : 
He sees ten thousand demons rise 
To wield the empire of the skies, 



294 ODES. 

And Chance and Fate assume the rod, 
And Malice blot the throne of God. 
— O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, 
Thy lenient influence hither bring ; 
Compose the storm, dispel the gloom. 
Till Nature wear her wonted bloom, 
Till fields and shades their sweets exhale, 
And music swell each opening gale : 
Then o'er his breast thy softness pour, 
And let him learn the timely hour 
To trace the world's benignant laws, 
And judge of that presiding cause 
Who founds on discord beauty's reign, 
Converts to pleasure every pain. 
Subdues each hostile form to rest. 
And bids the universe be bless'd. 

O thou, whose pleasing power I sing. 
If right I touch the votive string, 
If equal praise I yield thy name, 
Still govern thou thy poet's flame ; 
Still with the Muse my bosom share, 
And soothe to peace intruding care. 
But most exert thy pleasing power 
On friendship's consecrated hour ; 
And while my Sopliron points the road 
To godlike wisdom's culm abode. 
Or warm in freedom's ancient cause 
Traceth the source of Albion's laws, 
Add thou o'er all the generous toil 
The light of thy unclouded smile. 



BOOK I. 



295 



But if, by fortune's stubborn sway 

From him and friendship torn away, 

I court the Muse's healing spell 

For griefs that still with absence dwell, 

Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams 

To such indulgent placid themes, 

As just the struggling breast may cheer, 

And just suspend the starting tear, 

Yet leave that sacred sense of woe 

Which none but friends and lovers know. 



ODE vn. 

ON THE USE OF POETRY. 
I. 

Not for themselves did human kind 
Contrive the parts by Heaven assign'd 

On life's wide scene to play : 
Not Scipio's force nor Caesar's skill 
Can conquer Glory's arduous hill, 

If Fortune close the way. 

n. 

Yet still the self-depending soul, 
Though last and least in Fortune's roll, 

His proper sphere commands ; 
And knows what Nature's seal bestow'd, 
And sees, before the throne of God, 

The rank in which he stands. 



296 ODES. 

m. 
Wlio train'd by laws the future age, 
"Who rescu'd nations from the rage 

Of partial, factious power, 
My heart with distant homage views ; 
Content if thou, celestial Muse, 

Didst rule my natal hour. 

IV. 

Not far beneath the hero's feet, 
Nor from the legislator's seat 

Stands far remote the bard. 
Though not with public terrors crown'd, 
Yet wider shall his rule be found, 

More lasting his award. 

V. 
Lycurgus fashion'd Sparta's fame, 
And Pompey to the Roman name 

Gave universal sway : 
Where are they ? — Homer's reverend page 
Holds empire to the thirtieth age, 

And tongues and climes obey. 

VI. 
And thus when William's acts divine 
No longer shall from Bourbon's line 

Draw one vindictive vow ; 
When Sidney shall with Cato rest. 
And Russel move the patriot's breast 

No more than Brutus now ; 



BOOK I. 



297 



vn. 
Yet then shall Shakespeare's powerful art 
O'er every passion, every heart, 

Confirm his awful throne : 
Tyrants shall bow before his laws ; 
And Freedom's, Glory's, Virtue's cause, 

Their dread assertor own. 



ODE VIII.6 

ON LEAVING HOLLAND. 
I. 1. 

Farewell to Leyden's lonely bound, 
The Belgian Muse's sober seat ; 
"Where dealing frugal gifts around 
To all the favourites at her feet, 
She trains the body's bulky frame 
For passive, persevering toils ; 
And lest, from any prouder aim. 
The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils. 
She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless 
flame. 

I. 2. 
Farewell the grave, pacific air. 
Where never mountain zephyr blew : 
The marshy levels lank and bare. 
Which Pan, which Ceres never knew : 
The Naiads, with obscene attire. 
Urging in vain their urns to flow ; 
u 



298 ODES. 

While round them chaunt the croaking choir, 
And haply soothe some lover's prudent woe, 
Or prompt some restive bard and modulate his lyre. 
I. 3. 
Farewell, ye nymphs, whom sober care of gain 
Snatch'd in your cradles from the god of Love : 
She render'd all his boasted arrows vain ; 
And all his gifts did 4ie in spite remove. 
Ye too, the slow-ey'd fathers of the land. 
With whom dominion steals from hand to hand, 
Unown'd, undignified by public choice, 
I go where Liberty to all is known, 
And tells a monarch on his throne, 
He reigns not but by her preserving voice. 

n. 1. 
O my lov'd England, when with thee 
Shall I sit down, to part no more ? 
Far from this pale, discolour'd sea. 
That sleeps upon the reedy shore : 
When shall I plough thy azure tide ? 
When on thy hills the flocks admire, 
Like mountain snows ; till down their side 
I trace the village and the sacred spire. 
While bowers and copses green the golden slope 
divide ? 

n. 2. 
Ye nymphs who guard the pathless grove, 
Ye blue-ey'd sisters of the streams. 
With whom I wont at morn to rove. 
With whom at noon I talk'd in dreams ; 



BOOK I. 299 

O ! take me to your haunts again, 
The rocky spring, the greenwood glade ; 
To guide my lonely footsteps deign, 
To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade, 
And soothe my vacant ear with many an airy strain. 
II. 3. 
And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn 
Thy drooping master's inauspicious hand : 
Now brighter skies and fresher gales return, 
Now fairer maids thy melody demand. 
Daughters of Albion, listen to my lyre ! 
O Phcebus, guardian of the Aonian choir, 
Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own, 
When all the virgin deities above 
With Venus and with Juno move 
In concert round the Olympian father's throne ? 
ni. 1. 
Thee too, protectress of ray lays, 
Elate with whose majestic call 
Above degenerate Latium's praise. 
Above the slavish boast of Gaul, 
I dare from impious thrones reclaim. 
And wanton sloth's ignoble charms, 
The honours of a poet's name 
To Somers' counsels, or to Hampden's arms. 
Thee, Freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine 
flame, 

in. 2. 
Great citizen of Albion. Thee 
Heroic Valor still attends. 



300 ODES. 

And useful Science pleas'd to see 
How Art her studious toil extends : 
While Truth, diffusing from on high 
A lustre unconfin'd as day, 
Fills and commands the public eye ; 
Till, pierc'd and sinking by her powerful ray, 
Tame Faith and monkish Awe, like nightly demons, 
fly. 

m. 3. 

Hence the whole land the patriot's ardour shares : 
Hence dread Religion dwells with social Joy ; 
And holy passions and unsullied cares, 
In youth, in age, domestic life employ. 
O fair Britannia, hail ! — With partial love 
The tribes of men their native seats approve, 
Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame ; 
But when for generous minds and manly laws 

A nation holds her prime applause, 
There public zeal shall all reproof disclaim. 



ODE IX.^ 

TO CURIO. 1744. 

I. 

Thrice hath the Spring beheld thy faded fame 
Since I exulting grasp'd the tuneful shell : 
Eager through endless years to sound thy name, 
Proud that my memory with thine should dwell. 



BOOK I. 301 

How hast thou stain'd the splendour of my 

choice ! 
Those godlike forms which hover'd round thy 

voice, 
Laws, freedom, glory, whither are they flown ? 
What can I now of thee to Time report, 
Save thy fond country made thy impious sport, 

Her fortune and her hope the victims of thy own ? 
II. 
There are with eyes unmov'd and reckless heart 
Who saw thee from thy summit fall thus low, 
Who deem'd thy arm extended but to dart 
The public vengeance on thy private foe. 
But, spite of every gloss of envious minds. 
The owl-ey'd race whom virtue's lustre blinds. 
Who sagely prove that each man hath his price, 
I still believ'd thy aim from blemish free, 
I yet, even yet, believe it, spite of thee 

And all thy painted pleas to greatness and to vice. 

III. 
" Thou didst not dream of liberty decay'd. 
Nor wish to make her guardian laws more strong : 
But the rash many, first by thee misled. 
Bore thee at length unwillingly along. " 
Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old 
For faith deserted or for cities sold. 
Own here one untried, unexampled deed ; 
One mystery of shame from Curio learn. 
To beg the infamy he did not earn, [meed. 

And scape in Guilt's disguise from Virtue's offer'd 



302 ODES. 

IV. 

For saw we not that dangerous power avow'd 
Whom Freedom oft hath found her mortal bane, 
Whom public Wisdom ever strove to exclude, 
And but with blushes suffereth in her train ? 
Corruption vaunted her bewitching spoils, 
O'er court, o*er senate, spread in pomp her toils, 
And call'd herself the state's directing soul ; 
Till Curio, like a good magician, tried, 
With Eloquence and Reason at his side, 
By strength of holier spells the inchantress to con- 
trol. 

V. 

Soon with thy country's hope thy fame extends ; 
The rescued merchant oft thy words resounds ; 
Thee and thy cause the rural hearth defends ; 
His bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns ; 
The learn'd recluse, with awful zeal who read 
Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead. 
Now with like awe doth living merit scan > 
While he, whom virtue in his blest retreat 
Bade social ease and public passions meet. 
Ascends the civil scene, and knows to be a man. 

VI. 

At length in view the glorious end appear'd : 
We saw the spirit through the senate reign ; 
And Freedom's friends thy instant omen heard 
Of laws for which their fathers bled in vain. 
Wak'd in the strife, the public Genius rose 
More keen, more ardent from his long repose ; 



BOOK I. 303 

Deep through her bounds the city felt his call ; 
Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his 

power, 
And murmuring challeng'd the deciding hour 
Of that too vast event, the hope and dread of all. 

VII. 

O ye good powers who look on human kind. 
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll ; 
And watch the fleeting shapes in Curio's mind, 
And steer his passions steady to the goal. 
O Alfred, father of the English name, 
O valiant Edward, first in civil fame, 
O William, height of public virtue pure. 
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye. 
Behold the sum of all your labours nigh, [cure. 
Your plans of law complete, your ends of rule se- 

VIII. 

'Twas then — shame ! O soul from faith 

estrang'd ! 
O Albion oft to flattering vows a prey ! 
'Twas then — Thy thought what sudden frenzy 

chang'd ? 
What rushing palsy took thy strength away ? 
Is this the man in Freedom's cause approv'd ? 
The man so great, so honour'd, so belov'd ? 
Whom the dead envied and the living bless'd ? 
This patient slave by tinsel bonds allur'd ? 
This wretched suitor for a boon abjur'd ? 
Whom those that fear'd him, scorn ; that trusted 

him, detest ? 



804 ODES. 

IX. 

lost alike to action and repose ! 
With all that habit of familiar fame, 
Sold to the mockery of relentless foes, 
And doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame, 
To act with burning brow and throbbing heart 
A poor deserter's dull exploded part. 
To shght the favour thou canst hope no more, 
Renounce the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind. 
Charge thy own lightness on thy country's mind. 
And from her voice appeal to each tame foreign 
shore. 

X. 

But England's sons, to purchase thence applause, 
Shall ne'er the loyalty of slaves pretend. 
By courtly passions try the public cause. 
Nor to the forms of rule betray the end. 
O race erect ! by manliest passions mov'd, 
The labours which to Virtue stand approv'd, 
Prompt with a lover's fondness to survey ; 
Yet, where Injustice works her wilful claim, 
Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame. 
Impatient to confront, and dreadful to repay. 

XI. 

These thy heart owns no longer. In their room 
See the grave queen of pageants, Honour, dwell 
Couch'd in thy bosom's deep tempestuous gloom 
Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell. 
Before her rites thy sickening reason flew, 
Divine Persuasion from thy tongue withdrew, 



BOOK I. 305 

While Laughter mock'd, or Pity stole a sigh : 
Can Wit her tender movements rightly frame 
Where the prime function of the soul is lame ? 
Can Fancy's feeble springs the force of Truth 
supply ? 

XII. 

But come ; 'tis time : strong Destiny impends 
To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd : 
With princes fill'd, the solemn fane ascends, 
By Infamy, the mindful demon sway'd. 
There vengeful vows for guardian laws effac'd. 
From nations fetter'd, and from towns laid waste, 
For ever through the spacious courts resound : 
There long posterity's united groan 
And the sad charge of horrors not their own. 
Assail the giant chiefs, and press them to the 
ground. 

XIII. 

In sight old Time, imperious judge, awaits : 
Above revenge, or fear, or pity, just. 
He urgeth onward to those guilty gates 
The Great, the Sage, the Happy, and August. 
And still he asks them of the hidden plan 
Whence every treaty, every war began. 
Evolves their secrets and their guilt proclaims ; 
And still his hands despoil them on the road 
Of each vain wreath by lying bards bestow'd, 
And crush their trophies huge, and raze their sculp- 
tur'd names. 



306 ODES. 

XIV. 

Ye mighty shades, arise, give place, attend : 

Here his eternal mansion Curio seeks : 

— Low doth proud Wentworth to the stranger 

bend. 
And his dire welcome hardy Clifford speaks : 
" He comes, whom fate with surer arts prepar'd 
To accomplish all which we but vainly dar'd ; 
Whom o'er the stubborn herd she taught to reign : 
Who sooth'd with gaudy dreams their raging 

power 
Even to its last irrevocable hour ; 
Then baffled their rude strength, and broke them 

to the chain.'' 

XV. 

But ye, whom yet wise Liberty inspires. 
Whom for her champions o'er the world she 

claims, 
(That household godhead whom of old your sires 
Sought in the woods of Elbe and bore to Thames) 
Drive ye this hostile omen far away ; 
Their own fell efforts on her foes repay ; 
Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be hers alone : 
Still gird your swords to combat on her side ; 
Still frame your laws her generous test to abide, 
And win to her defence the altar and the throne. 

xvr. 

Protect her from yourselves, ere yet the flood 
Of golden Luxury, which Commerce. pours, 



BOOK I. 307 

Hath spread that selfish fierceness through your 

blood, 
Which not her lightest discipline endures ; 
Snatch from fantastic dema2;o"rues her cause ; 
Dream not of Numa's manners, Plato's laws: 
A wiser founder, and a nobler plan, 
O sons of Alfred, were for you assigned : 
Bring to that birthright but an equal mind, 
And no sublimer lot will fate reserve for man. 



ODE X.8 

TO THE MUSE. 



Queen of my songs, harmonious maid, 
Ah why hast thou withdrawn thy aid ? 
Ah why forsaken thus my breast 
With inauspicious damps oppress'd ? 
Where is the dread prophetic heat, 
With which my bosom wont to beat ? 
Where all the bright mysterious dreams 
Of haunted groves and tuneful streams, 
That woo'd my genius to divinest themes ? 
II. 
Say, goddess, can the festal board, 
Or young Olympia's form ador'd ; 
Say, can the pomp of promis'd fame 
Relume thy faint, thy dying flame ? 



80$ ODES. 

Or have melodious airs the power 
To give one free, poetic hour? 
Or, from amid the Elysian train, 
The soul of Milton shall I gain, 
To win thee back with some celestial strain ? 

HI. 

powerful strain ! O sacred soul ! 
His numbers every sense control : 
And now again my bosom burns ; 
The Muse, the Muse herself, returns. 
Such on the banks of Tyne, confess'd, 

1 hail'd the fair immortal guest, 
When first she seal'd me for her own, 
Made all her blissful treasures known, 

And bade me swear to follow Her alone. 



ODE XI.9 

ON LOVE, TO A FRIEND. 
i I. 

No, foolish youth — to virtuous fame 
If now thy early hopes be vow'd. 
If true ambition's nobler flame 
Command thy footsteps from the crowd, 
Lean not to Love's enchanting snare ; 
His songs, his words, his looks beware, 
Nor join his votaries, the young and fair. 



BOOK I. 309 

11. 

By thought, by clangers, and by toils, 
The wreath of just renown is worn; 
Nor will ambition's awful spoils 
The flowery pomp of ease adorn: 
But Love unbends the force of thought; 
By Love unmanly fears are taught ; 

And Love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought. 
III. 
Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays, 
And heard from many a zealous breast, 
The pleasing tale of beauty's praise 
In wisdom's lofty language dress'd; 
Of beauty powerful to impart 
Each finer sense, each comelier art, 

And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart. 

IV. 

If then, from Love's deceit secure, 
Thus far alone thy wishes tend. 
Go ; see the white-wing'd evening hour 
On Delia's vernal walk descend : 
Go, while the golden light serene. 
The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene 
Becomes the presence of the rural queen. 

V. 

Attend, while that harmonious tongue 
Each bosom, each desire commands : 
Apollo's lute by Hermes strung, 
And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands, 



810 ODES. 

Attend. I feel a force divine, 
O Delia, win my thoughts to thine ; 
That half the colour of thy life is mine. 

VI. 

Yet conscious of the dangerous charm, 
Soon would I turn ray steps away ; 
Nor oft provoke the lovely harm, 
Nor lull my reason's watchful sway. 
But thou, my friend — I hear thy sighs : 
Alas, I read thy downcast eyes ; 
And thy tongue falters, and thy colour flies. 

VII. 

So soon again to meet the fair ? 
So pensive all this absent hour ? 
— O yet, unlucky youth, beware, 
While yet to think is in thy power. 
In vain with friendship's flattering name 
Thy passion veils its inward shame ; 
Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame 

VIII. 

Once, I remember, new to Love, 
And dreading his tyrannic chain, 
I sought a gentle maid to prove 
What peaceful joys in friendship reign : 
Whence we forsooth might safely stand. 
And pitying view the lovesick band, 
And mock the winged boy's malicious hand. 

IX. 

Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day, 
To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd ; 



BOOK I. 811 

While I exulted to survey 
One generous woman's real mind : 
Till friendshij) soon my languid breast 
Each night with unknown cares possess'd, 
Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd. 

X. 

Fool that I was — And now, even now 
While thus I preach the Stoic strain, 
Unless I shun Olympia's view, 
An hour unsays it all again. 
O friend ! — when Love directs her eyes 
To pierce where every passion lies, 
Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise ? 



ODE XII. 

TO SIR FRANCIS HENRY DRAKE, BARONET. 
I. 

Behold ; the Balance in the sky 
Swift on the wintry scale inclines : 
To earthy caves the Dryads fly, 
And the bare pastures Pan resigns. 
Late did the fiirmer's fork o'erspread 
With recent soil the twice-mown mead, 
Tainting the bloom which Autumn knows : 
He whets the rusty coulter now, 
He binds his oxen to the plough. 
And wide his future harvest throws. 



812 ODES. 

II. 

Now, London's busy confines round, 
By Kensington's imperial towers, 
From Highgate's rough descent profound, 
Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers, 
Where'er I pass, I see approach 
Some rural statesman's eager coach 
Hurried by senatorial cares : 
While rural nymphs (alike, within, 
Aspiring courtly praise to win) 
Debate their dress, reform their airs. 

III. 
Say, what can now the country boast, 

Drake, thy footsteps' to detain, 
When peevish winds and gloomy frost 
The sunshine of the temper stain ? 
Say, are the priests of Devon grown 
Friends to this tolerating throne. 
Champions for George's legal right ? 
Have general freedom, equal law. 
Won to the glory of Nassau 

Each bold Wessexian squire and knight ? 

IV. 

1 doubt it much ; and guess at least 
That when the day, which made us free, 
Shall next return, that sacred feast 
Thou better may'st observe with me. 
With me the sulphurous treason old 

A far inferior part shall hold 



BOOK I. 314 

In that glad day's triumphal strain ; 
And generous William be rever'd, 
Nor one untimely accent heard 
Of James or his ignoble reign. 

V. 

Then, while the Gascon's fragrant wine 
With modest cups our joy supplies, 
We'll truly thank the power divine 
Who bade the chief, the patriot rise; 
Rise from heroic ease (the spoil 
Due, for his youth's Herculean toil, 
From Belgium to her saviour son), 
Rise with the same unconquer'd zeal 
For our Britannia's injured weal, 
Her laws defac'd, her shrines o'erthrown. 

VI. 

He came. The tyrant from our shore, 

Like a forbidden demon, fled ; 

And to eternal exile bore 

Pontific rage and vassal dread. 

There sunk the mouldering Gothic reign : 

New years came forth, a liberal train, 

Call'd by the people's great decree. 

That day, my friend, let blessings crown : 

— Fill, to the demigod's renown 

From whom thou hast that thou art free. 

VII. 

Then, Drake, (for wherefore should we part 
The public and the private weal ?) 



314 ODES. 

In vows to her who sways thy heart, 
Fair health, glad fortune, will we deal. 
Whether Aglaia's blooming cheek, 
Or the soft ornaments that speak 
So eloquent in Daphne's smile, 
Whether the piercing lights that fly 
From the dark heaven of Myrto's eye, 
Haply thy fancy then beguile. 

VIII. 

For so it is : — thy stubborn breast. 
Though touched by many a slighter wound, 
Hath no full conquest yet confess'd, 
Nor the one fatal charmer found. 
While I, a true and loyal swain, 
My fair Olympiads gentle reign 
Through all the varying seasons own. 
Her genius still my bosom warms : 
No other maid for me hath charms, 
Or I have eyes for her alone. 



ODE xin.io 

ON LYRIC POETRY. 
I. 1. 

Once more I join the Thespian choir, 
And taste the inspiring fount again : 
O parent of the Grecian lyre. 
Admit me to thy powerful strain — 



BOOK I. 31c 

And lo, with ease my step invades 
The pathless vale and opening shades, 
Till now I spy her verdant seat ; 
And now at large I drink the sound, 
While these her offspring, listening round, 
Bj turns her melody repeat. 

I. 2. 
I see Anacreon smile and sing, 
His silver tresses breathe perfume ; 
His cheek displays a second spring 
Of roses taught by wine to bloom. 
Away, deceitful cares, away. 
And let me listen to his lay ; 
Let me the wanton pomp enjoy. 
While in smooth dance the light-wing'd Hours 
Lead round his lyre its patron powers, 
Kind Laughter and convivial Joy. 
I. 3. 
Broke from the fetters of his native land. 
Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords. 
With louder impulse and a threatening hand 
The Lesbian patriot* smites the sounding chords: 
Ye wretches, ye perfidious train. 
Ye curs'd of gods and free-born men, 

Ye murderers of the laws. 
Though now ye glory in your lust, 
Though now ye tread the feeble neck in dust. 
Yet Time and righteous Jove will judge your 
dreadful cause. 

* Alcaeus. 



316 ODES. 

n. 1. 
But lo, to Sappho's melting airs 
^ Descends the radiant queen of love : 
She smiles, and asks what fonder cares 
Her suppliant's plaintive measures move : 
Why is my faithful maid distress'd ? 
"Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast ? 
Say, flies he ? — Soon he shall pursue : 
Shuns he thy gifts ? — He soon shall give : 
Slights he thy sorrows ? — He shall grieve, 
And soon to all thy wishes bow. 

n. 2. 
But, O Melpomene, for whom 
Awakes thy golden shell again ? 
What mortal breath shall e'er presume 
To echo that unbounded strain ? 
Majestic in the frown of years. 
Behold, the man of Thebes * appears : 
For some th^re are, whose mighty frame 
The hand of Jove at birth endow'd 
With hopes that mock the gazing crowd ; 
As eagles drink the noontide flame, 
II. 3. 
While the dim raven beats her weary wings, 
And clamours far below. — Propitious Muse, 
While I so late unlock thy purer springs, 
And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse. 
Wilt thou for Albion's sons around 
(Ne'er hadst thou audience more renown'd) 
* Pindar. 



BOOK I. 317 

Thy charming arts employ, 
As wheu the winds from shore to shore 
Thro' Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore, 
Till towns and isles and seas return'd the vocal joy ? 

III. 1. 
Yet then did Pleasure's lawless throng, 
Oft rushing forth in loose attire, 
Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song 
Pollute with impious revels dire. 
O fair, O chaste, thy echoing shade 
May no foul discord here invade ; 
Nor let thy strings one accent move, 
Except what earth's untroubled ear 
'Mid all her social tribes may hear. 
And heaven's unerring throne approve. 

III. 2. 
Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat 
The fairest flowers of Pindus glow ; 
The vine aspires to crown thy seat. 
And myrtles round thy laurel grow. 
Thy strings adapt their varied strain 
To every pleasure, every pain. 
Which mortal tribes were born to prove ; 
And straight our passions rise or fall. 
As at the wind's imperious call 
The ocean swells, the billows move. 

III. 3. 
When midnight listens o'er the slumbering 

earth. 
Let me, O Muse, thy solemn whispers hear: 



818 ODES. 

When morning sends her fragrant breezes forth, 
With airy murmurs touch my opening ear. 
And ever watchful at thy side, 
Let Wisdom's awful suffrage guide 

The tenor of thy lay : 
To her of old by Jove was given 
To judge the various deeds of earth and heaven ; 
'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us -to her sway. 
IV. 1. 
Oft as, to well-earn'd ease resign'd, 
I quit the maze where Science toils, 
Do thou refresh my yielding mind 
With all thy gay, delusive spoils. 
But, O indulgent, come not nigh 
The busy steps, the jealous eye 
Of wealthy care or gainful age ; 
Whose barren souls thy joys disdain. 
And hold as foes to reason's reign 
Whome'er thy lovely works engage. 

IV. 2. 
When friendship and when letter'd mirth 
Haply partake my simple board, 
Then let thy blameless hand call forth 
The music of the Teian chord. 
Or if invok'd at softer hours, 
O ! seek with me the happy bowers 
That hear Olympia's gentle tongue ; 
To beauty link'd with virtue's train. 
To love devoid of jealous pain. 
There let the Sapphic lute be strung. 



BOOK I. 319 

IV. 3. 
But when from envy and from deatli to claim 
A hero bleeding for his native land ; 
When to throw incense on the vestal flame 
Of Liberty my genius gives command, 
Nor Theban voice nor Lesbian lyre 
From thee, O Muse, do I require ; 

While my presaging mind, 
Conscious of powers she never knew, 
Astonish'd grasps at things beyond her view. 
Nor by another's fate submits to be confin'd. 



ODE XIV. 

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND ; 
FROM THE COUNTRY.. 
I. 

Sat, Townshend, what can London boast 
To pay thee for the pleasures lost, 

The health to-day resign'd. 
When Spring from this her favourite seat 
Bade Winter hasten his retreat. 

And met the western wind. 
II. 
O knew'st thou how the balmy air. 
The sun, the azure heavens prepare 

To heal thy languid frame. 
No more would noisy courts engage ; 
In vain would lying Faction's rage 

Thy sacred leisure claim. 



320 ODES. 

III. 
Oft I look'd forth, and oft admir'd ; 
Till with the studious volume tir'd 

I sought the open day ; 
And sure, I cried, the rural gods 
Expect me in their green abodes, 

And chide my tardy lay. 

IV. 

But ah, in vain my restless feet 
Trac'd every silent shady seat 

Which knew their forms of old : 
Nor Naiad by her fountain laid, 
Nor Wood-nymph tripping through her glade, 

Did now their rites unfold : 

V. 

Whether to nurse some infant oak 
They turn the slowly tinkling brook 

And catch the pearly showers. 
Or brush the mildew from the woods. 
Or paint with noontide beams the buds. 

Or breathe on opening flowers. 

VI. 

Such rites, which they with Spring renew. 
The eyes of care can never view ; 

And care hath long been mine : 
And hence offended with their guest. 
Since grief of love my soul oppress'd, 

They hide their toils divine. 

VII. 

But soon shall thy enlivening tongue 
This heart, by dear afliiction wrung, 



BOOK I. S21 

With noble hope inspire : 
Then will the sylvan powers again 
Receive me in their genial train, 

And listen to my lyre. 

VIII. 

Beneath yon Dryad's lonely shade 
A rustic altar shall be paid, 

Of turf with laurel fram'd ; 
And thou the inscription wilt approve : 
" This for the peace which, lost by love, 

By friendship was reclaim'd." 



ODE XV. 

TO THE EVENING STAR. 
I. 

To-night retir'd the queen of heaven, 

With young Endymion stays : 
And now to Hesper it is given 
Awhile to rule the vacant sky, 
Till she shall to her lamp supply 

A stream of brighter rays. 
II. 
O Hesper, while the starry throng 

With awe thy path surrounds, 
Oh, listen to my suppliant song. 
If haply now the vocal sphere 
Can suffer thy deliglited ear 

To stoop to mortal sounds. 



322 ODES. 

III. 
So may the bridegroom's genial strain 

Thee still invoke to shine ; 
So may the bride's unmarried train 
To Hymen chaunt their flattering vow, 
Still that his lucky torch may glow 

With lustre pure as thine. 

IV. 

Far other vows naust I prefer 

To thy indulgent power. 
Alas ! but now I paid my tear 
On fair Olympia's virgin tomb ; 
And lo, from thence, in quest I roam 

Of Philomela's bower. 

V. 

Propitious send thy golden ray, 

Thou purest light above : 
Let no false flame seduce to stray 
Where gulf or steep lie hid for harm ; 
But lead where music's healing charm 

May soothe afllicted love. 

VI. 

To them, by many a grateful song 

In happier seasons vow'd, 
These lawns, Olympia's haunt, belong : 
Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd, 
Or fix'd, while Philomela talk'd, 

Beneath yon copses stood. 

VII. 

Nor seldom, where the beechen boughs 
That roofless tower invade. 



BOOK I. 323 

We came while her enchanting Muse 
The radiant moon above us held ; 
Till, bj a clamorous owl corapell'd, 
She fled the solemn shade. 

VIII. 

But hark ; I hear her liquid tone. 

Now, Hesper, guide my feet 
Down the red marl with moss o'ergrown, 
Through yon wild thicket next the plain, 
Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane, 

Which leads to her retreat. 

IX. 

See the green space : on either hand 

Enlarg'd it spreads around : 
See, in the midst she takes her stand. 
Where one old oak his awful shade 
Extends o'er half the level mead 

Inclos'd in woods profound. 

X. 

Hark how through many a melting note 

She now prolongs her lays : 
How sweetly down the void they float I 
The breeze their magic path attends ; 
The stars shine out ; the forest bends ; 

The wakeful heifers gaze. 

XI. 

Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring 

To this sequester'd spot, 
If then the plaintive Siren sing, 
O softly tread beneath her bower, 



324 6de^. 

And think of heaven's disposing power, 
Of man's uncertain lot. * 

XII. 

O think, o'er all this mortal stage, 

What mournful scenes arise ; 
What ruin waits on kingly rage ; 
How often virtue dwells with woe ; 
How many griefs from knowledge flow ; 

How swiftly pleasure flies. 

XIII. 

O sacred bird, let me at eve, 

Thus wandering all alone, 
Thy tender counsel oft receive, 
Bear witness to thy pensive airs, 
And pity Nature's common cares 

Till I forget my own. 



ODE XVI. 

TO CALEB HARDINGE, M. D. 
I. 

With sordid floods the wintry Urn * 
Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green 
Her naked hill the Dryads mourn, 
No longer a poetic scene. 
No longer there thy raptur'd eye 
The beauteous forms of earth, or sky 
Surveys as in their Author's mind ; 
* Aquarius. 



BOOK I. 325 

And London shelters from the year 
Those whom thy social hours to share 
The Attic Muse design'd. 

II. 
From Hampstead's airy summit me 
Her guest the city shall behold, 
What day the people's stern decree 
To unbelieving kings is told, 
When common men (the dread of fame) 
Adjudg'd as one of evil name, 
Before the sun, the anointed head. 
Then seek thou too the pious town. 
With no unworthy cares to crown 
That evening's awful shade. 

III. 
Deem not I call thee to deplore 
The sacred martyr of the day, 
By fast and penitential lore 
To purge our ancient guilt away. 
For this, on humble faith I rest 
That still our advocate, the priest. 
From heavenly wrath will save the land ; 
Nor ask what rites our pardon gain, 
Nor how his potent sounds restrain 
The thunderer's lifted hand. 

IV. 

No, Hardinge : peace to church and state ! 
That evening, let the Muse give law ; 
While I anew the theme relate 
Which my first youth enamour'd saw. 



326 ODES. 

Then will I oft explore thy thought, 
"What to reject which Locke hath taught, 
What to pursue in Virgil's lay ; 
Till hope ascends to loftiest things, 
Nor envies demagogues or kings 
Their frail and vulgar sway. 

V. 

O vers'd in all the human frame. 
Lead thou where'er my labour lies, 
And English fancy's eager flame 
To Grecian purity chastise ; 
While hand in hand, at Wisdom's shrine, 
Beauty with truth I strive to join. 
And grave assent with glad applause ; 
To paint the story of the soul, 
And Plato's visions to control 
By Verulamian * laws. 



ODE XVIL 

ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY. 1747. 
I. 

Come then, tell me, sage divine. 
Is it an offence to own 
That our bosoms e'er incline 
Toward immortal Glory's throne ? 

* Verulam gave one of his titles to Francis Bacon, author 
of the Novum Organum. 



BOOK I. 



327 



For with me nor pomp nor pleasure, 

Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure, 

So can Fancy's dream rejoice, 

So conciliate Reason's choice. 
As one approving word of her impartial voice. 
II. 

If to spurn at noble praise 

Be the passport to thy heaven. 

Follow thou those gloomy ways : 

No such law to me was given ; 

Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, 

Faring like my friends before me ; 

Nor an holier place desire 

Than Timoleon's arms require, 
And TuUy's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre. 



ODE XVIIl.^ 

TO THE. RIGHT HONOURABLE FRANCIS EARL 
OF HUNTINGDON. 1747. 

I. 1. 

The wise and great of every clime. 
Through all the spacious walks of Time, 
Where'er the Muse her power display'd, 
With joy have listen'd and obey'd. 
For, taught of Heaven, the sacred Nine 
Persuasive numbers, forms divine, 
To mortal sense impart : 



328 ODES* 

They best the soul with glory fire ; 
They noblest counsels, boldest deeds inspire ; 
And high o'er Fortune's rage enthrone the fixed 
heart. 

I. 2. 
Nor less prevailing is their charm 
The vengeful bosom to disarm ; 
To melt the proud with human woe, 
And prompt unwilling tears to flow. 
Can wealth a power like this afford ? 
Can Cromwell's arts, or Marlborough's sword, 

An equal empire claim ? 
No, Hastings. Thou my words wilt own : 
Thy breast the gifts of every Muse hath known ; 
Nor shall the giver's love disgrace thy noble name. 
I. 3. 
The Muse's awful art. 
And the blest function of the poet's tongue, 
Ne'er shalt thou blush to honour ; to assert 
from all that scorned vice or slavish fear hath 
sung. 
Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings 
Warbling at will in Pleasure's myrtle bower ; 
Nor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings 
By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour. 
Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign. 
A different strain, 
And other themes 
From her prophetic shades and liallow'd streams 
(Thou well canst witness) meet the purged ear : 



BOOK I. 329 

Such as when Greece to her immortal shell 
Rejoicing listen'd, godlike sounds to hear ; - 
To hear the sweet instructress tell 
(While men and heroes throng'd around) 
How life its noblest use may find, 
How well for freedom be resign'd ; 
And how, by glory, virtue shall be crown'd. 

n. 1. 
Such was the Chian father's strain 
To many a kind domestic train. 
Whose pious hearth and genial bowl 
Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul : 
When, every hospitable rite 
With equal bounty to requite, 

He struck his magic strings. 
And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth. 
And seiz'd their ears with tales of ancient worth. 
And fill'd their musing hearts with vast heroic 



things. 



n. 2. 



Now oft, where happy spirits dwell, 
Where yet he tunes his charming shell. 
Oft near him, with applauding hands. 
The Genius of his country stands. 
To listening gods he makes him known. 
That man divine, by whom were sown 

The seeds of Grecian fame : 
Who first the race with freedom fir'd ; 



330 ODES. 

From whom Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspir'd ; 
From whom Plataean palms and Cyprian trophies 
came. 

n. 3. 

O noblest, happiest age ! 
When Aristides rul'd, and Cimon fought ; 
When all the generous fruits of Homer's page 
Exulting Pindar saw to full perfection brought. 
O Pindar, oft shalt thou be hail'd of me : 
Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine ; 
Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee; 
Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine, 
Pan danc'd their measure with the sylvan throng : 
But that thy song 
Was proud to unfold 
What thy base rulers trembled to behold ; 
Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell 
The deeds of Athens and the Persian shame : 
Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell. 
But thou, O faithful to thy fame. 
The Muse's law didst rightly know ; 
That who would animate his lays. 
And other minds to virtue raise, 
Must feel his own with all her spirit glow, 
ni. 1. 
Are there, approv'd of later times. 
Whose verse adorn'd a tyrant's * crimes ? 
Who saw majestic Rome betray'd, 
And lent the imperial ruffian aid ? 
* Octavianus Cassar. 



BOOK I. 331 

Alas ! not one polluted bard, 

No, not the strains that Mincius heard, 

Or Tibur's hills replied, 
Dare to the Muse's ear aspire ; 
Save that, instructed by the Grecian lyre. 
With Freedom's ancient notes their shameful task 
they hide. 

ni. 2. 
Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands, 
Amid the domes of modern hands : 
Amid the toys of idle state, 
How simply, how severely great ! 
Then turn, and, while each western clime 
Presents her tuneful sons to Time, 
So mark thou Milton's name ; 
And add, " Thus differs from the throng 
The spirit which inform'd ^y awful song. 
Which bade thy potent voice protect thy country s 
fame." 

in. 3. 

Yet hence barbaric zeal 
His memory with unholy rage pursues ; 
While from these arduous cares of public weal 
She bids each bard begone, and rest him with his 
Muse. 
O fool ! to think the man, whose ample mind 
Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey; 
Must join the noblest forms of every kind. 
The world's most perfect image to display, — 



832 ODES. 

Can e*er his country's majesty behold, 
Unmov'd or cold ! 
O fool ! to deem 
That he whose thought must visit every theme, 
Whose heart must every strong emotion know 
Inspir'd by Nature, or by Fortune taught, — 
That he, if haply some presumptuous foe. 
With false, ignoble science fraught. 
Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band ; 
That he their dear defence will shun, 
Or hide their glories from the sun. 
Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand ! 

IV. 1. 
I care not that in Arno's plain. 
Or on the sportive banks of Seine, 
From public themes the Muse's quire 
Content with polish'd ease retire. 
Where priests the studious head command, 
Where tyrants bow the warlike hand 

To vile ambition's aim. 
Say, what can public themes afford. 
Save venal honours to a hateful lord, [fame ? 
Reserv'd for angry heaven, and scorn'd of honest 
IV. 2. 
But here, where Freedom's equal throne 
To all her valiant sons is known ; 
Where all are conscious of her cares, 
And each the power that rules him shares ; 
Here let the bard, whose dastard tongue 
Leaves public arguments unsung. 
Bid public praise farewell : 



BOOK I. 333 

Let him to fitter climes remove, 
Far from the hero's and the patriot's love, 
And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell. 

IV. 3. 

Hastings, not to all 
Can ruling Heaven the same endowments lend : 
Yet still doth Nature to her offspring call, 
That to one general weal their different powers they 
bend, 
Unenvious. Thus alone, though strains divine 
Inform the bosom of the Muse's son ; 
Though with new honours the patrician's line 
Advance from age to age ; yet thus alone 
They win the suffrage of impartial fame. 
The poet's name 
He best shall prove. 
Whose lays the soul with noblest passions move. 
But thee, O progeny of heroes old, 
Thee to severer toil thy fate requires : 
The fate which form'd thee in a chosen mould, 
The grateful country of thy sires, 
Thee to sublimer paths demand ; 
Sublimer than thy sires could trace. 
Or thy own Edward teach his race, 
Tho' Gaul's proud genius sank beneath his hand. 

V. 1. 

From rich domains and subject farms 
They led the rustic youth to arms, 
And kings their stern achievements fear'd ; 
While private strife their banners rear'd. 



334 ODES. 

But loftier scenes to thee are shown, 
Where empire's wide establish'd throne 

No private master fills : 
"Where, long foretold, the People reigns : 
Where each a vassal's humble heart disdains ; 
And judgeth what he sees ; and, as he judgeth, wills. 

V. 2. 
Here be it thine to calm and guide 
The swelling democratic tide ; 
To watch the state's uncertain frame, 
And baffle Faction's partial aim ; 
But chiefly, with determin'd zeal. 
To quell that servile band, who kneel 
To Freedom's banish'd'Yoes ; 
, That monster, which is daily found 
Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound ; 
Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows. 

V. 3. 
'Tis highest Heaven's command. 
That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue ; 
That what ensnares the heart should maim the 
*" hand. 
And Virtue's worthless foes be false to glory too. 
But look on Freedom : see, through every age, 
What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd ! 
What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage, 
Have her dread offspring conquer'd or sustain'd ! 
For Albion well have conquer'd. List the strains 
Of happy swains, 
Which now resound 



BOOK I. 335 

Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures 

bound, 
Bear witness ; — there, oft let the farmer hail 
The sacred orchard which embowers his gate, 
And show to strangers passing down the vale, 
Where Candish, Booth, and Osborne sate; 
When bursting from their country's chain, 
Even in the midst of deadly harms, 
Of papal snares and lawless arms, \ 
They plann'd for Freedom this her noblest reign. 

VI. 1. 
This reign, these laws, this public care, 
Which Nassau gave us all to share. 
Had ne'er adorn'd the English name, 
Could Fear have silenc'd Freedom's claim. 
But Fear in vain attempts to bind 
Those lofty efforts of the mind 

Which social good inspires ; 
Where men, for this, assault a throne. 
Each adds the common welfare to his own ; 
And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all 
acquires. 

VI. 2. 
Say, was it thus, when late we view'd 
Our fields in civil blood imbru'd ? 
When fortune crown'd the barbarous host, 
And half the astonish'd isle was lost ? 
Did one of all that vaunting train. 
Who dare affront a peaceful reign, 
Durst one in arms appear ? 



336 ODES. 

Durst one in counsels pledge his life ? 
Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife ? 
Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to 
cheer ? 

VI. 3. 
Yet, Hastings, these are they 
Who challenge to themselves thy country's love ; 
The true, the constant : who alone can weigh 
What glory should demand, or liberty approve ! 
But let their works declare them. Thy free powers, 
The generous powers of thy prevailing mind. 
Not for the tasks of their confederate hours. 
Lewd brawls and lurking slander, were design'd. 
Be thou thy own approver. Honest praise 
Oft nobly sways 
Ingenuous youth ; 
But, sought from cowards and the lying mouth, 
Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone 
For mortals fixeth that sublime award. 
He, from the faithful records of his throne, 

Bids the historian and the bard 
Dispose of honour and of scorn ; 
Discern the patriot from the slave ; 
And write the good, the wise, the brave, 
For lessons to the multitude unborn. 



BOOK II. 837 



BOOK n. 



ODE I. 

THE REMONSTRANCE OF SHAKESPEARE: 

SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, 

WHILE THE FRENCH COMEDIANS WERE ACTING 

BY SUBSCRIPTION. 1749. 

If, yet regardful of your native land. 
Old Shakespeare's tongue you deign to understand, 
Lo, from the blissful bowers where heaven rewards 
Instructive sages and unblemish'd bards, 
I come, the ancient founder of the stage, 
Intent to learn, in this discerning age. 
What form of wit your fancies have embrac'd, 
And whither tends your elegance of taste. 
That thus at length our hojnely toils you spurn, 
That thus to foreign scenes you proudly turn. 
That from my brow the laurel wreath you claim 
To crown the rivals of your country's fame. 

What though the footsteps of my devious Muse 
The measur'd walks of Grecian art refuse ? 
Or though the frankness of my hardy style 
Mock the nice touches of the critic's file ? 
Yet, what my age and climate held to view, 
Impartial I survey'd, and fearless drew. 



338 ODES. 

And say, ye skilful in the human heart, 
Who know to prize a poet's noblest part, 
What age, what clime, could e'er an ampler field 
For lofty thought, for daring fancy, yield ? 
I saw this England break the shameful bands 
Forg'd for the souls of men by sacred hands : 
I saw each groaning realm her aid implore ; 
Her sons the heroes of each warlike shore : 
Her naval standard (the dire Spaniard's bane) 
Obey'd through all the circuit of the main. 
Then, too, great Commerce, for a late-found world, 
Around your coast her eager sails unfurl'd : 
New hopes, new pas^ons, thence the bosom fir'd ; 
New plans, new arts, the genius thence inspir'd ; 
Thence every scene which private fortune knows, 
In stronger life, with bolder spirit, rose. 

Disgrac'd I this full prospect which I drew ? 
My colours languid, or my strokes untrue ? 
Have not your sages, warriors, swains, agd kin^s, 
Confess'd the living draught of men andfeinp ? 
What other bard in any clime appears 
Alike the master of your smiles and tears ? 
Yet have I deign'd your audience p entice 
With wretched bribes to luxury and vice ? 
Or have my various scenes a purpose known 
Which freedom, virtue, glory, might not own ? 

Such from the first was my dramatic plan ; 
It should be yours to crown what I began : 
And now that England spurns her Gothic chain^ 
And equal laws and social science reign, 



BOOK II. 339 

I tliought, Now surely shall my zealous eyes 
View nobler bards and juster critics rise, 
Intent with learned labour to refine 
Tlie copious ore of Albion's native mine, 
Our stately Muse more graceful airs to teach, 
And form her tongue to more attractive speech, 
Till rival nations listen at her feet, 
And own her polish'd as they own her great. 

But do you thus my favourite hopes fulfil? 
Is France at last the standard of your skill? 
Alas for you ! that so betray a mind 
Of art unconscious, and to beauty blind. 
Say, does her language your ambition raise, 
Her barren, trivial, unharmonious phrase. 
Which fetters eloquence to scantiest bounds, 
And maims the cadence of poetic sounds? 
Say, does your humble admiration choose 
The gentle prattle of her Comic Muse, 
While wits, plain-dealers, fops, and fools appear, 
Charg'd to say nought but what the king may hear ? 
Or rather melt your sympathising hearts. 
Won by her tragic scene's romantic arts. 
Where old and young declaim on soft desire. 
And heroes never, but for love, expire ? 

No. Though the charms of novelty, awhile, 
Perhaps too fondly win your thoughtless smile, 
Yet not for you design'd indulgent fate 
The modes or manners of the Bourbon state. 
And ill your minds my partial judgment reads. 
And many an augury my hope misleads. 



340 ODES. 

If the fair maids of yonder blooming train 
To their light courtship would an audience deign, 
Or those chaste matrons a Parisian Avife 
Choose for the model of domestic life ; 
Or if one youth of all that generous band, 
The strength and splendour of their native land, 
Would yield his portion of his country's fame. 
And quit old freedom's patrimonial claim, 
With lying smiles oppression's pomp to see. 
And judge of glory by a king's decree. 

O blest at home with justly-envied laws, 
O long the chiefs of Europe's general cause, 
Whom Heaven hath chosen at each dangerous hour 
To check the inroads of barbaric power, 
The rights of trampled nations to reclaim, 
And guard the social world from bonds and shame ; 
O let not luxury's fantastic charms 
Thus give the lie to your heroic arms ; 
Nor for the ornaments of life embrace 
Dishonest lessons from that vaunting race, 
Whom fate's dread laws (for in eternal fate 
Despotic rule was heir to freedom's hate) 
Whom in each warlike, each commercial part. 
In civil council, and in pleasing art, 
The judge of earth predestin'd for your foes. 
And made it fame and virtue to oppose. 



BOOK II. 841 

ODE 11.12 

TO SLEEP. 
I. 

Thou silent power, whose welcome sway 
Charms every anxious thought away ; 
In whose divine oblivion drown'd, 
Sore pain and weary toil grow mild, 
Love is with kinder looks beguil'd, 

And grief forgets her fondly cherish'd wound ; 

whither hast thou flown, indulgent god ? 

God of kind shadows and of healing dews. 

Whom dost thou touch with thy Lethoean rod ? 
Around whose temples now thy opiate airs diffuse ? 
II. 
Lo, Midnight from her starry reign 
Looks awful down on earth and main. 
The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep, 
With all that crop the verdant food, 
With all that skim the crystal flood, 

Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep. 

No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers ; 

No wakeful sound the moonlight valley knows, 

Save where the brook its liquid murmur pours, 
And lulls the waving scene to more profound repose. 
III. 
O let not me alone complain, 
Alone invoke thy power in vain ! 



842 odes/ 

Descend, propitious, on my eyes ; 
Not from the couch that bears a crown, 
Not from the courtly statesman's down, 
Nor where the miser and his treasure lies : 
Bring not the shapes that break the murderer's 

rest. 
Nor those the hireling soldier loves to see, 
Nor those which haunt the bigot's gloomy breast : 
Far be their guilty nights, and far their dreams 
from me ! 

IV. 

Nor yet those awful forms present, 
For chiefs and heroes only meant: 
The figur'd brass, the choral song. 
The rescued people's glad applause. 
The listening senate, and the laws 
Fix'd by the counsels of Timoleon's * tongue. 
Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways ; 
And though they shine in youth's ingenuous view, 
The sober gainful arts of modern days 
To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu. 

V. 

I ask not, god of dreams, thy care 
To banish Love's presentments fair : 
Nor rosy cheek nor radiant eye 

* After Timolcon had delivered Syracuse from the tjTfinny 
of Dionysius, the people on every impurtant deliberation sent 
for him into tlio public assembly, asked his advice, and voted 
according to it. — Plutarch. 



BOOK n. 343 

Can urm him with such strong command 
That tlie ycing sorcerer's fatal hand 
Sliould round my soul liis pleasing letters tie. 
Nor yet the courtier's hope, the giving smile, 
(A lighter phantom, and a baser chain,) 
Did e'er in slumber my proud lyre beguile 
To lend the pomp of thrones her ill-according strain. 

VI. 

But, Morpheus, on thy balmy wing 
Such honourable visions bring 
As sooth'd great Milton's injur'd age, 
When in prophetic dreams he saw 
The race unborn, with pious awo. 
Imbibe each virtue from his heavenly page : 
Or suth as Mead's benignant fancy knows, 
When health's deep treasures, by his art explor'd, 
Have sav'd the infant from an orphan's woes, 
Or to the trembling sire his age's hope restor'd. 



ODE III. 

TO THE CUCKOO. 
I. 

O RUSTIC herald of the Spring, 
At length in yonder woody vale 
Fast by the brook I hear thee sing; 
And, studious of thy homely tale, 
Amid the vespers of the grove, 
Am id the chaunting choir of love. 
Thy sage responses hail. 



344 ODES. 

II. 
The time has been when I have frowned 
To hear thy voice the woods invade ; 
And while thy solemn accent drown'd 
Some sweeter poet of the shade, 
Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care 
Some constant youth or generous fair 

"With dull advice upbraid. 
III. 
I said, " While Philomela's song 
Proclaims the passion of the grove, 
It ill beseems a cuckoo's tongue 
Her charming language to reprove" — 
Alas, how much a lover's ear 
Hates all the sober truth to hear, 

The sober truth of love ! 

IV. 

"When hearts are in each other bless'd. 
When nought but lofty faith can rule 
The nymph's and swain's consenting breast, 
How cuckoo-like in Cupid's school. 
With store of grave prudential saws 
On fortune's power and custom's laws. 
Appears each friendly fool ! 

V. 

Yet think betimes, ye gentle train 
Whom love and hope and fancy sway, 
Who every harsher care disdain, 
Who by the morning judge the day. 
Think that, in April's fairest hours. 



BOOK II. 345 

To warbling slia^s and painted flowers 
The cuckoo joins his lay. 



ODE IV. 

TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND, 
IN TliE COUNTRY. 1750. 

I. 1. 

How oft shall I survey 
This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade, 

The vale with sheaves o'erspread, 
The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray ? 

When will thy cheerful mind 
Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem ? 

Or tell me, dost thou deem 
No more to join in glory's toilsome race, 

But here content embrace 
That happy leisure which thou hadst resign'd? 
I. 2. 

Alas ! ye happy hours, 
When books and youthful sport the soul could share, 

Ere one ambitious care 
Of civil life had aw'd her simpler powers ; 

Oft as your winged train 
Revisit here my friend in white array, 

O fiiil not to display 
Each fairer scene where I perchance had part, 

That so his generous heart 
The abode of even friendship may remain. 
z 



346 ODES. 

I. 3. 

For not im.prudent of mj loss to come, 

I saw from Contemplation's quiet cell 

His feet ascending to another home 

Where public praise and envied greatness dwell. 

But shall we therefore, O my lyre, 

Reprove ambition's best desire ? 
Extinguish glory's flame ? 

Far other was the task enjoin'd 
When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd : 
Far other faith belongs to friendship's honour'd 
name. 

n. 1. 

Thee, Townshend, not the arms 
Of slumbering Ease, nor Pleasure's rosy chain, 

Were destin'd to detain : 
No, nor bright Science, nor the Muse's charms. 

For them high heaven prepares 
Their proper votaries, an humbler band : 

And ne'er would Spenser's hand 
Have deign'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell. 

Nor Harrington to tell 
What habit an immortal city wears, 
n. 2. 

Had this been born to shield 
The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd. 

Or that, like Vere, displayed 
His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field. 

Yet where the will divine 
Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains, 

With reason clad in strains 



BOOK II. 347 

Of harmony, selected minds to inspire, 

And virtue's living fire 
To feed and eternize in hearts like thine, 
n. 3. 
For never shall the herd, whom envy sways, 
So quell my purpose or my tongue control. 
That I should fear illustrious worth to praise, 
Because its master's friendship mov'd my soul. 
Yet, if this undissembling strain 
Should now perhaps thine ear detain 

With any pleasing sound, 
Remember thou that righteous Fame 
From hoary age a strict account will claim 
Of each auspicious palm with which thy youth was 
crown'd. 

m. 1. 
Nor obvious is the way ^ 

Where heaven expects thee, nor the traveller leads, 

Through flowers or fragrant meads. 
Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay. 

The impartial laws of fate 
To nobler virtues wed severer cares. 

Is there a man who shares 
The summit next where heavenly natures dwell ? 

Ask him (for he can tell) 
What storms beat round that rough laborious 

height. 

m. 2. 

Ye heroes, who of old 
Did generous England Freedom's throne ordain; 



848 ODES. 

From Alfred's parent reign 
To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold ; 

I know your perils hard, 
Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas, 

The night estrang'd from ease, 
The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd, 

The head with doubt perplex'd. 
The indignant heart disdaining the reward 

ni. 3. 
Which envy hardly grants. But, O renown, 
O praise from judging heaven and virtuous men, 
If thus they purchas'd thy divinest crown, 
Say, who shall hesitate ? or who complain ? 

And now they sit on thrones above : 

And when among the gods they move 
Before the Sovereign Mind, 

" Lo, these," he saith, " lo, these are they 
Who to the laws of mine eternal sway 
From violence and fear asserted human kind." 
IV. 1. 

Thus honour'd while the train 
Of legislators in his presence dwell ; 

If I may aught foretell. 
The statesman shall the second palm obtain. 

For dreadful deeds of arms 
Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise, 

More glittering trophies raise : 
But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move 

To favour and to love ? 
What, save wide blessings, or averted harms ? 



BOOK II. 349 

IV. 2. 

Nor to the embattled field 
Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown, 

The green immortal crown 
Of valour, or the songs of conquest, yield. 

Not Fairfax wildly bold, 
While bare of crest' he hew'd his fatal way 

Through Naseby's firm array. 
To heavier dangers did his breast oppose 

Than Pym's free virtue chose, 
"When the proud force of Strafford he control'd. 

IV. 3, 
But what is man at enmity with truth ? 
What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious mind 
When (blighted all the promise of his youth) 
The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd ? 
Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains. 
Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swains, 
Let menac'd London tell 
How impious guile made wisdom base ; 
How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place ; 
And how unbless'd he liv'd, and how dishonoured 
fell. 

V. 1. 
Thence never hath the Muse 
Around his tomb Pierian roses flung : 

Nor shall one poet's tongue 
His name for music's pleasing labour choose. 
And sure, when Nature kind 



350 0DE3. 

Hath deck'd some favour'd breast above the throng, 

That man with grievous wrong 
Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends 

To guilt's ignbble ends 
The functions of his ill-submitting mind. 
V. 2. 

For worthy of the wise ' 
Nothing can seem but virtue ; nor earth yield 

Their fame an equal field, 
Save where impartial Freedom gives the prize. 

There Somers fix'd his name, 
Inroll'd the next to William. There shall Time 

To every wondering clime 
Point out that Somers, who from faction's crowd, 

The slanderous and the loud, 
Could fair assent and modest reverence claim. 

V. 3. 

Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire. 
Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land 
Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire, 
"Without his guidance, his superior hand. 
And rightly shall the Muse's care 
Wreaths like her own for him prepare, 

Whose mind's enamour'd aim 
Could forms of civil beauty draw 
Sublime as ever sage or poet saw, 
Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame. 

VI. 1. 
Let none profane be near ! 

The Muse was never foreign to his breast : 



BOOK n. 351 

On power's grave seat confessed, 
Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear. 

And if tiie blessed know 
Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves, 

Where haply Milton roves 
With Spenser, hear the enchjyited echoes round 

Through farthest heaven resound 
Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below. 

VI. 2. 
He knew, the patriot knew. 
That tetters and the Muse's powerful art 

Exalt the ingenuous heart. 
And brighten every form of just and true. 

They lend a nobler sway 
To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure 

Could ever yet procure : 
They too from envy's pale malignant light 

Conduct her forth to sight 
Cloth'd in the fairest colours of the day. 

VI. 3. 
O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe, 
Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell : 
And when I speak of one to Freedom dear 
For planning wisely and for acting well, 
Of one whom Glory loves to own, 
Who still by liberal means alone 

Hath liberal ends pursu'd ; 
Then, for the guerdon of my lay, 
" This man with faithful friendship," will I say, 
" From youth to honour'd age my arts and me hath 
view'd." 



352 ODES. 



ODE V. 

ON LOVE OF PRAISE. 
I. 

Of all the springs within the mind 

Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze, 
From none more pleasing aid we find 

Than from the genuine love of praise. 
II. 
Nor any partial, private end 

Such reverence to the public bears ; 
Nor any passion, virtue's friend. 

So like to virtue's self appears. 
III. 
For who in glory can delight, 

Without delight in glorious deeds ? 
What man a charming voice can slight, 

Who courts the echo that succeeds ? 

IV. 

But not the echo on the voice 

More, than on virtue praise, depends ; 

To which, of course, its real price 
The judgment of the praiser lends. 

V. 

If praise then with religious awe 

From the sole perfect judge be sought, 

A nobler aim, a purer law, 

Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught. 



BOOK n. 353 



VI. 

With wliicli in character the same, 
Though in an humbler sphere it lies, 

I count that soul of human fame, 
The suffrage of the good and wise. 



OJ)E VI. 

TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE ; WITH THE 
WORKS OF CHAULIEU. 

I. 

Attend to Chaulieu*s wanton lyre ; 
While, fluent as the sky-lark sings 
When first the morn allures its wings, 
The epicure his theme pursues : 
And tell me if, among the choir 
Whose music charms the banks of Seine, 
So full, so free, so rich a strain 
E'er dictated the warbling Muse. 

II. 
Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear 
Admires the well-dissembled art 
That can such harmony impart 
To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes ; 
While wit from affectation clear. 
Bright images, and passions true, 
Recall to thy assenting view 
The envied bards of nobler times ; 



354 ODES. 

III. 

Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong ? 
This priest of Pleasure, who aspires 
To lead us to her sacred fires, 
Knows he the ritual of her shrine ? 
Say (her sweet influence to thy song 
So may the goddess still afford) 
Doth she consent to be ador'd 
"With shameless love and firantic wine ? 

IV. 

Nor Cato nor Chrysippus here 
Need we in high indignant phrase 
From their Elysian quiet raise ; 
But Pleasure's oracle alone 
Consult ; attentive, not severe. 
O Pleasure, we blaspheme not thee ; 
Nor emulate the rigid knee 
Which bends but at the Stoic throne. 

V. 

We own had fate to man assign'd 
Nor sense, nor wish but what obey 
Or Venus soft or Bacchus gay, 
Then might our bard's voluptuous creed 
Most haply govern human kind ; 
Unless perchance what he hath sung 
Of tortur'd joints and nerves unstrung, 
Some wrangling heretic should plead. 

VI. 

But now with all these proud desires 
For dauntless truth and honest fame ; 



BOOK II. 355 

With that strong master of our frame, 
The inexorable judge within, 
Wliat can be done ? Alas, ye fires 
Of love ; alas, ye rosy smiles, 
Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils ! 
Ye have no bribe his grace to win. 



ODE VII. 

TO TIEB RIGirr REVEREND BENJAMIN LORD BISHOP OF 
WINCHESTER. 1754.13 
I. 1. 

For toils which patriots have endur'd, 
For treason quell'd and laws secur'd, 
In every nation Time displays 
The palm of honourable praise. 
Envy may rail, and Faction fierce 
May strive ; but what, alas ! can those 
(Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes) 
To Gratitude and Love oppose, 
To faithful story and persuasive verse ? 

I. 2. 

O nurse of freedom, Albion, say, 
Thou tamer of despotic sway. 
What man, among tliy sons around. 
Thus heir to glory hast thou found ? 
What page, in all thy annals bright, 
Hast thou with purer joy survey'd 
Than that where truth, by lloadly's aid, 
Shines through imposture's solemn shade, 
Through kingly and through sacerdotal night ? 



856 ODES. 

I. 3. 

To him the Teacher bless'd, 
Who sent religion, from the palmy field 
By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west, 
And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth 
conceal'd, 
To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd : 
" Go thou, and rescue my dishonour'd law 
From hands rapacious and from tongues im- 
pure: 
Let not my peaceful name be made a lure 
Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid ; 
Let not my words be impious chains to draw 
The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe. 
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid." 
II. 1. 
No cold or unperforming hand 
Was arm'd by Heaven with this command. 
The world soon felt it ; and, on high, 
To William's ear with welcome joy 
Did Locke among the blest unfold 
The rising hope of Hoadly's name ; 
Godolphin then confirm'd the fame ; 
And Somers, when from earth he came, 
And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told. 
II. 2. 
Then drew the lawgivers around, 
(Sires of the Grecian name renown'd) 
And listening ask'd, and wondering knew, 
What private force could thus subdue 



BOOK II. 357 

The vulgar and the great combin'd ; 
Could war with sacred folly wage ; 
Could a whole nation disengage 
From the dread bonds of many an age, 
And to new habits mould the public mind. 

II. 3. 

For not a conqueror's sword, 
Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, 
Were his ; but truth by faithful search explor'd. 

And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. 
Wherever it took root, the soul (restor'd 
To freedom) freedom too for others sought. 
Not monkish craft the tyrant's claim divine, 
Not regal zeal the bigot's cruel shrine. 
Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage ; 
Not the wild rabble to sedition wrought. 
Nor synod^by the papal Genius taught, 

Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage. 

m. 1. 

But where shall recompense be found ? 
Or how such arduous merit crown'd ? 
For look on life's laborious scene : 
What rugged spaces lie between 
Adventurous Virtue's early toils 
And her triumphal throne! The. shade 
Of death, meantime, does oft invade 
Her progress ; nor, to us display'd. 
Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils. 



358 ODES. 

m. 2. 
Yet born to conquer is her power : 
O Hoadly, if that favourite hour 
On earth arrive, with thankful aw^ 
We own just Heaven's indulgent law, 
And proudly thy success behold ; 
We attend thy reverend length of days 
With benediction and with praise, 
And hail thee in our public ways 
Like some great spirit fam'd in ages old. 

ni. 3. 

While thus our vows prolong 
Thy steps on earth, and when by us resign'd 
Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng 
Who rescu'd or preserved the rights of human kind, 
O ! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue 
Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name : 
O ! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes. 
May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize, 
Make public virtue, public freedom, vile ; 
Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim 
That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame. 
Which thou hast kept entire from force and fac- 
tious guile. 



BOOK II. 359 

ODE VIII." 

I. 

If riglitly tuneful bards decide, 

If it be fix'd in Love's decrees, 
That Beauty ought not to be tried 

But by its native power to please, 
Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell^ 
"What fair can Amoret excel ? 

II. 
Behold that bright unsullied smile, 

And wisdom speaking in her mien : 
Yet (she so artless all the while, 

So little studious to be seen) 
We nought but instant gladness know, 
Nor think to whom the gift we owe. 

III. 
But neither music, nor the powers 

Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, 
Add half that sunshine to the hours. 

Or make life's prospect half so clear, 
As memory brings it to the eye 
From scenes where Amoret was by. 

IV. 

Yet not a satirist could there 

Or fault or indiscretion find ; 
Nor any prouder sage declare 

One virtue, pictur'd in his mind. 
Whose form with lovelier colours glows 
Than Amoret's demeanor shows. 



360 ODES. 

V. 

This sure is Beauty's happiest part : 
This gives the most unbounded sway 

This shall enchant the subject heart 
"When rose and lily fade away ; 

And she be still, in spite of time, 

Sweet Amoret in all her prime. 



ODE IX. 

AT STUDY. 
I. 

Whither did my fancy stray ? 
By what magic drawn away 

Have I left my studious theme ? 
From this philosophic page, 
From the problems of the sage, 

Wandering through a pleasing dream ? 
II. 
*Tis in vain, alas ! I find, 
Much in vain, my zealous mind 

Would to learned Wisdom's throne 
Dedicate each thoughtful hour : 
Nature bids a softer power 

Claim some minutes for his own. 
III. 
Let the busy or the wise 
View him with contemptuous eyes ; 

Love is native to the heart : 



BOOK II. 361 

Guide its wishes as you will, 
Without Love you'll find it still 
Void in one essential part. 

IV. 

Me though no peculiar fair 
Touches with a lover's care ; 

Though the pride of my desire 
Asks immortal friendship's name, 
Asks the palm of honest fame, 

And the old heroic lyre ; 

V. 

Though the day have smoothly gone, 
Or to letter'd leisure known, 

Or in social duty spent ; 
Yet at eve my lonely breast 
Seeks in vain for perfect rest ; 

Languishes for true content. 



ODE X. 

TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ESQ.: ON THE LATE EDITION OP 
MR. POPE'S WORKS. 1751.15 
I. 

Believe me, Edwards, to restrain 
The license of a railer's tongue 
Is what but seldom men obtain 
By sense or wit, by prose or song ; 
A task for more Herculean powers, 
Nor suited to the sacred hours 
Of leisure in the Muse's bowers. 

2 A 



362 ODES. 

II. 
In bowers where laurel weds with palm, 
The Muse, the blameless queen, resides : 
Fair Fame attends, and Wisdom calm 
Her eloquence harmonious guides : 
While, shut for ever from her gate, 
Oft trying, still repining, wait 
Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate. 

III. 
Who then from her delightful bounds 
Would step one moment forth to heed 
What impotent and savage sounds 
From their unhappy mouths proceed ? 
No : rather Spenser's lyre again 
Prepare, and let thy pious strain 
For Pope's dishonour'd shade complain. 

IV. 

Tell how displeas'd was every bard, 
When lately in the Elysian grove 
They of his Muse's guardian heard, 
His delegate to fame above ; 
And what with one accord they said 
Of wit in drooping age misled. 
And Warburton's officious aid : 

V. 

How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate 
To that melodious lyre assign'd 
Beneath a tutor who so late 
With Midas and his rout combined 



BOOK II. 363 

By spiteful clamour to confound 
That very lyre's enchanting sound, 
Though listening realms admir'd around : 

VI. 

How Plorace own'd he thought the fire 
Of his friend Pope's satiric line 
Did farther fuel scarce require 
From such a militant divine : 
How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain 
"Who durst approach his hallow'd strain 
With unwash'd hands and lips profane. 

VII. 

Then Shakespeare debonair and mild 
Brought that strange comment forth to view ; 
Conceits more deep, he said and smil'd, 
Than his own fools or madmen knew : 
But thank'd a generous friend above, 
Who did with free adventurous love 
Such pageants from his tomb remove. 

VIII. 

And if to Pope, in equal need, 
The same kind office thou wouldst pay, 
Then, Edwards, all the band decreed 
That future bards with frequent lay 
Should call on thy auspicious name, 
From each absurd intruder's claim 
To keep inviolate their fame. 



S64 ODES. 



ODE XI. 



TO THE COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND. 1758.W 
I. 

Whither is Europe's ancient spirit fled ? 
Where are those valiant tenants of her shore, 
Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped. 
Or with firm hand the rapid pole-axe bore ? 
Freeman and Soldier was their common name. 
Who late with reapers to the furrow came, 
Now in the front of battle charg'd the foe ; 
Who taught the steer the wintry plough to endure, 
Now in full councils check'd encroaching power. 

And gave the guardian Laws their majesty to know. 
II. 
But who are ye ? from Ebro's loitering sons 
To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine ; 
From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones 
And cities looking on the Cimbric main, 
Ye lost, ye self-deserted ? whose proud lords 
Have baffled your tame hands, and given your 

swords 
To slavish ruffians, hir'd for their command : 
These at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod ; 
See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod : 

These are the Public Will, the Reason of the land. 
III. 
Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas ! the while 
Dost thou presume ? O inexpert in arms, 



BOOK II. 



865 



Yet vain of Freedom, how dost thou beguile, 
With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms ? 
Thy splendid home, thy i)lan of laws renown'd, 
The praise and envy of the nations round, 
What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's 



sway •* 



Amid the storms of war, how soon may all 
The lofty pile from its foundations fall, 
Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day ! 



IV. 



No : thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales 
Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store ; 
And every port is crowded with thy sails, 
And every wave throws treasure on thy shore. 
What boots it ? If luxurious Plenty charm 
Thy selfish heart from Glory, if thy arm 
Shrink at the frowns of Danger and of Pain, 
Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine. 
O rather far be poor 1 Thy gold will shine 
Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy 
bane. 



V, 



But what hath Force or War to do with thee ? 
Girt by the azure tide and thron'd sublime 
Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see. 
With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime 
Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe 
Are thy fair fields : athwart thy guardian prow 
No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand — 
Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind 



866 ODES. 

Obey thee ? Hast thou all thy hopes resigned 
To the sky's fickle faith ? the pilot's wavering hand ? 

VI. 

For O may neither Fear nor stronger Love 
(Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won) 
Thee, last of many wretched nations, move, 
With mighty armies station'd round the throne 
To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims 
Of Freedom ! Her proud records to the flames 
Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine ; 
Whate'er thy ancient patriots dar'd demand 
From furious John's, or faithless Charles's hand, 
Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line. 

VII. 

But if thy sons be worthy of their name. 
If liberal laws with liberal arts they prize. 
Let them from conquest, and from servile shame 
In War's glad school their own protectors rise. 
Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultur'd plains, 
Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains, 
Now not unequal to your birth be found : 
The pubHc voice bids arm your rural state, 
Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait. 
And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth 
around. 

VIII. 

Why are ye tardy ? what inglorious care 
Detains you from their head, your native post ? 
Who most their country's fame and fortune share, 
*Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most. 



BOOK II. 367 

Each man liis task in social life sustains. 
With partial labours, with domestic gains 
Let others dwell : to you indulgent Heaven 
By counsel and by arms the public cause 
To serve for public love and love's applause, 
The first employment far, the noblest hire, hath 
given. 

IX. 

Have ye not heard of Lacedoemon's fame ? 
Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine ? 
Of Rome's dread generals ? the Valerian name ? 
The Fabian sons ? the Scipios, matchless line ? 
Your lot was theirs : the farmer and the swain 
Met his lov'd patron's summons from the plain ; 
The legions gather'd ; the bright eagles flew : 
Barbarian monarchs in the triumph raourn'd ; 
The conquerors to their household gods return'd, 
And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine 
plough. 

X. 

Shall then this glory of the antique age, 
This pride of men, be lost among mankind ? 
Shall war's heroic arts no more engage 
The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind ? 
Doth valour to the race no more belong ? 
No more with scorn of violence and wrong 
Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire, 
That, like some mystery to few reveal'd. 
The skill of arms abash'd and aw'd they yield, 
And from their own defence with hopeless hearts 
retire ? 



368 ODES. 

XI. 

O shame to human life, to human laws ! 
The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, 
Who his fell sword without affection draws, 
Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, 
This man the lessons of the field can learn ; 
Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, 
And every pledge of conquest : while in vain, 
To guard your altars, your paternal lands. 
Are social arms held out to your free hands : 
Too arduous is the lore ; too irksome were the pain. 

XII. 

Meantime by Pleasure's lying tales allur'd, 
From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray ; 
And deep in London's gloomy haunts immur'd. 
Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's 

decay. 
O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue ! 
The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields 

renew. 
The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend ; 
While he doth riot's orgies haply share. 
Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare. 
Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense 

bend. 

XIII. 

And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain 
That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng ; 
That the rude village-inmates now disdain 
Those homely ties which rul'd their fathers long. 



BOOR II. 369 

Alas ! your fathers did by other arts 
Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts, 
And led in other paths their ductile will ; 
By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, 
Won them the ancient manners to revere, 
To prize their country's peace, and heaven's due 
rites fulfil. 

XIV. 

But mark the judgment of experienc'd Time, 
Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear 
A state ? and impotent sedition's crime ? 
The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there ; 
The powers who to command and to obey, 
Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway 
The rising race to manly concord tame ? 
Oft let the marshal'd field their steps unite, 
And in glad splendour bring before their sight 
One common cause and one hereditary fame. 

XV. 

Nor yet be aw'd, nor yet your task disown. 
Though war's proud votaries look on severe ; 
Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone. 
They deem profan'd by your intruding ear. 
Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell, 
Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell, 
And mock the old simplicity, in vain : 
To the time's warfare, simple or refin'd. 
The time itself adapts the warrior's mind ; 
And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain. 



370 ODES. 

XVI. 

Say then, if England's youth, in earlier days, 
On glory's field with well-train'd armies vied. 
Why shall they now renounce that generous 

praise ? 
Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride ? 
Tho' Valois brav'd young Edward's gentle hand, 
And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band, 
With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd. 
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd. 
Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen 

brook'd : 
They saw their standard fall, and left their mo- 
narch bound. 

XVII. 

Such were the laurels which your fathers won ; 
Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast : 
— Is there no voice that speaks to every son ? 
No nobler, holier call to you address'd ? 
O ! by majestic Freedom, righteous Laws, 
By heavenly Truth's, by manly Reason's cause, 
Awake ; attend ; be indolent no more : 
By friendship, social peace, domestic love. 
Rise ; arm ; your country's living safety prove ; 
And train her valiant youth, and watch around her 
shore. 



BOOK II. 371 

ODE XII. 

ON RECOVERINQ FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS, 
IN TUE COUNTRY. 1758. 

I. 

Thy verdant scenes, O Goulder's Hill, 
Once more I seek, a languid guest : 
With throbbing temples and with burden'd breast 
Once more I climb thy steep aerial way. 
O faithful cure of oft-returning ill, 
Now call thy sprightly breezes round, 
Dissolve this rigid cough profound. 
And bid the springs of life with gentler movement 
play. 

II. 

How gladly 'mid the dews of dawn 
By weary lungs thy healing gale, 
The balmy west or the fresh north inhale ! 
How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove 
Round the cool orchard or the sunny lawn, 
Awak'd I stop, and look to find 
What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind, 
Or what wild songster cJiarms the Dryads of the 
grove. 

III. 

Now, ere the morning walk is done, 
The distant voice of Health I hear 

Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear. 

" Droop not, nor doubt of my return," she cries ; 

" Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon, 



372 ODES. 

Meet thee beneath yon chestnut bower, 
And lenient on thy bosom pour [skies." 

That indolence divine which lulls the earth and 

IV. 

The goddess promis'd not in vain. 

I found her at my favourite time ; 
Nor wish'd to breathe in any softer clime, 
While (half-reclin'd, half-slumbering as I lay) 
She hover'd o'er me. Then, among her train 

Of Nymphs and Zephyrs, to my view 

Thy gracious form appear'd anew, [day. 

Then first, heavenly Muse, unseen for many a 

V. 

In that soft pomp the tuneful maid 
Shone like the golden star of love. 
I saw her hand in careless measures move ; 
I heard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre, 
While my whole frame the sacred sound obey'd. 
New sunshine o'er my fancy springs. 
New colours clothe external things, 
And the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire. 

VI. 

O Goulder's Hill, by thee restor'd 

Once more to this enliven'd hand, 
My harp, which late resounded o'er the land 
The voice of glory, solemn and severe. 
My Dorian harp shall now with mild accord 

To thee her joyful tribute pay, 

And send a less-ambitious lay 
Of friendship and of love to greet thy master's ear 



BOOK II. 373 

VII. 

For when within thy shady seat 
First from tiie suUry town he chose, 
And the tir'd senate's cares, his wish'd repose, 
Then wast thou mine ; to me a happier home 
For social leisure ; where my welcome feet, 
Estrang'd from all the entangling ways 
In which the restless vulgar strays. 
Through Nature's simple paths with ancient Faith 
might roam. 

VIII. 

And while around his sylvan scene 

My Dyson led the white-wing'd hours. 
Oft from the Athenian academic bowers 
Their sages came ; oft heard our lingering walk 
The Mantuan music warbling o'er the green ; 

And oft did Tully's reverend shade. 

Though much for liberty afraid, 
With us of letter'd ease or virtuous glory talk. 

IX. 

But other guests were on their way. 
And reach'd ere long this favour'd grove ; 
Even the celestial progeny of Jove, 
Bright Venus, with her all-subduing son, 
"Whose golden shaft most willingly obey 
The best and wisest. As tliey came. 
Glad Hymen wav'd his genial flame, 
And sang their happy gifts, and prais'd their spot- 
less throne. 



374 ODES. 

X. 

I saw when through yon festive gate 
lie led along his chosen maid, 
And to my friend with smiles presenting said, 
" Receive that fiiirest wealth which Heaven as- 

sign'd 
To human fortune. Did thy lonely state 
One wish, one utmost hope confess ? 
Behold, she comes to adorn and bless ; 
Comes, worthy of thy heart, and equal to thy mind.** 



ODE XIII. 

TO TIEE AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF TIIE HOUSE 

OF BRAXDENBURGH. 1751. 

I. 

The men renown'd as chiefs of human race, 
And horn to lead in counsels or in arms, 
Have seldom turn'd their feet from glory's chace 
To dwell with books or court the Muse's charms. 
Yet, to our eyes if haply time hath brought 
Some genuine transcript of their calmer thought. 
There still we own the wise, the great, or good ; 
And Caesar there and Xenophon are seen. 
As clear in spirit and sublime of mien. 
As on Pharsalian plains, or by the Assyrian flood. 
II. 
Say thou too, Frederic, was not this thy aim ? 
Thy vigils could, the student's lamp engage, 



BOOK IT. .375 

Except for tliis? except tliat future Fame 
]MigIit read thy genius in the faithful page? 
That if hereafler Envy shall presume 
With words irreverent to inscribe thy tomb, 
And baser weeds upon thy palms to fling, 
That hence posterity may try thy reign, 
Assert thy treaties, and thy wars explain, 
And view in native lights the hero and the king. 

III. 
O evil foresight and pernicious care ! 
"Wilt thou indeed abide by this appeal? 
Shall we the lessons of tliy pen compare 
With private honour or with public zeal ? 
Whence then at things divine those darts of 

scorn ! 
Why are the woes, which virtuous men have 

borne 
For sacred truth, a prey to laughter given ? 
What fiend, what foe of Nature, urgM thy arm 
The Almighty of his sceptre to disarm ? 
To push this earth adrift, and leave it loose from 

heaven ? 

IV. 

Ye godlike shades of legislators old, 

Ye who made Rome victorious, Athens wise, 

Ye first of mortals with tiie bless'd enroU'd, 

Say did not horror in your "bosoms rise, 

When thus by impious vanity impell'd 

A magistrate, a monarch, ye beheld 



376 ODES. 

Affronting civil order's holiest bands ? 
Those bands which ye so labour'd to improve ? 
Those hopes and fears of justice from above, 
Which tam'd the savage world to your divine 
commands ? 



ODE XIV. 

THE COMPLAINT. 
I. 

Away ! away ! 
Tempt me no more,"insidious love: 

Thy soothing sway 
Long did my youthful bosom prove : 
At length thy treason is discern'd, 
At length some dear-bought caution earn'd : 
Away ! nor hope my riper age to move. 
II. 

I know, I see 
Her merit. Needs it now be shown, 

Alas, to me ? 
How often, to myself unknown, 
The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid 
Have I admir'd ! How often said, 
What joy to call a heart like hers one's own ! 
III. 

But, flattering god, ^^ 

O squanderer of content and ease, ^t^ 

In thy abode ^ 

Will care's rude lesson learn to please ? 



BOOK II. 377 

O say, deceiver, hast thou won 
Proud Fortune to attend thy throne, 
Or plac'd thy friends above her stern decrees ? 



ODE XV. 

ON DOMESTIC MANNERS. 

(unfinished.) 

I. 

Meek Honour, female shame, 
O! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky, 

From Albion dost thou fly ; 
Of Albion's daughters once the favourite fame ? 

O beauty's only friend. 
Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire ; 

Who selfish, bold desire 
Dost to esteem and dear affection turn ; 

Alas ! of thee forlorn 
What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend ? 
II. 

Behold ; our youths in vain 
Concerning nuptial happiness inquire : 

Our maids no more aspire 
The arts of bashful Hymen to attain ; 

But with triumphant eyes 
And cheeks impassive, as tliey move along, 

Ask homage of the throng. 
The lover swears that in a harlot's arms 

Are found the self-same charms. 
And worthless and deserted lives and dies. 

2 B 



378 ODES. 

III. 

Behold ; unbless'd at home, 
The father of the cheerless household mourns : 

Tiie night in vain returns, 
For Love and glad Content at distance roam ; 

While she, in whom his mind 
Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares, 

To meet him she prepares. 
Thro' noise and spleen and all the gamester's art, 

A listless, harass'd heart. 
Where not one tender thought can welcome find. 

IV. 

'Twas thus, along the shore 
Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard, 

From many a tongue preferr'd, 
Of strife and grief the fond invective lore ; 

At wliich the queen divine 
Indignant, with her adamantine spear 

Like thunder sounding near. 
Smote the red cross upon her silver shield. 

And thus her wrath reveal'd. 
(I watch'd her awful words, and made them mine.) 



379 



NOTES ON THE TWO BOOKS OF ODES. 



B. i. OJe xviii. Stanza ii. 2]. Lycurgiis, the Lacedaemonian 
lawgiver, brougiit into Greece from Asia Minor tlie first com- 
plete copy of Homer's worivs. At Plataja was fouglit the 
decisive battle between the Persian army and the" united 
militia of Greece under Pausauias and Aristides. — Ciraon the 
Athenian erected a trophy in Cypinis for two great victories 

g lined on the same day over the Persians by sea and land, 
iodorus Siculus has preserved the inscription which the 
Athenians affixed to the consecrated spoils, after this great 
success; in which it is very remarliable that the greatness of 
the occasion has raised the manner of expression above the 
usual simplicity and modesty of all other ancient inscriptions. 
It is this : — 



EB. OT. F. EYPfinHN. A2IA2. AIXA. nONTOS. 
EN EI ME. 
KAl. I10AEA2. 0NHTQN. GOTFOS. APH2. EHEXEI. 
OTAEN. nn. TOIOTTON. EniXeONIi2N. TENET'. 
ANAPi2N. 
EPTON. EN. HIIEIPi^I. KAI. KATA. IJONTON. AMA. 
OIAE. TAP. EN KTnPi2I. MHA0T2. nOAAOTS. OAE- 
SANTE2. 
<^0iNiKi2N. EKATON. NAT2. EAON. EN. HEAATEI. 
ANAPi2N. nAHBOTSAS. META. A'. E2TENEN. A212. 

rrr. atts2n. 

IlAHrElS'. AM'l'GTEPAIi:. XEP2I. KPATEl. HOAE- 
MOY. [Diod. 1. xi, 62.] 

The following translation is almost literal: — 

Since first the sea from A«ia's hostile coast 
Divided Europe, and the god of war 
AssaiPd imperious cities; never yet, 
At once among the waves and on the shore, 
Hath such a hibour been achieved by men 
Who earth inliabit. They, whose arms the Medes 
In Cyprus felt pernicious, they, the same. 
Have won from skilful Tyre an hundred ships 
Crowded with warriors. Asia groans, in both 
Her hands sore smitten, by the might of war. 



380 NOTES TO THE ODES. 

Stanza li. 3.] Pindar was cotemporary with Aristides and 
Cimon, in whom the glory of ancient Greece was at its height. 
When Xerxes invaded Greece, Pindar was trne to tlie common 
interest of his conntry ; though liis fellow-citizens, tlie Thebans, 
had sold theniselves"^to the Persian king. In one of liis odes 
he expresses tlie great distress and anxiety of his mind, occa- 
sioned by the vast preparations of Xerxes against Greece. 
[Istlua. h\) In another he celebrates the victories of Salamis, 
Piat^ea, and Himera. {Pyth. 1.) It will be necessary to add 
two or three other particulars of his life, real or fabulous, in 
order to explain what follows in the text concerning him. First, 
then, he was thought to be so great a favourite of Apollo, that 
the priests of that deity allotted him a constant share of their 
offermgs. It was said of him, as of some other illustrious men, 
that at his birth a swarm of bees lighted on his lips, and fed 
him with their honey. It was also a tradition concerning him, 
that Pan was heard to recite his poetry, and seen dancing to 
one of his hymns on the mountains near Thebes. But a real 
historical fact in his life is, that the Thebans imposed a large 
fine upon liim on account of the veneration which he expressed 
in his poems for that heroic spirit, shown by the people of 
Athens in defence of the common liberty, which his own 
fellow-citizens had shamelully betrayed. Anil, as the argument 
of this ode implies, that grea"t poetical talents and high senti- 
ments of liberty do reciprocally produce and assist each other, 
so Pindar is perhaps the most exemplary proof of this connec- 
tion, which occurs in history. The Thebans were remarkable, 
in general, for a slavish disposition through all the fortunes 
of their commonwealth: at the time of its ruin by Philip; 
and even in its best state, under the administration of Pelopidas 
and Epaminondas : and every one knows, they were no less 
remarkable for great dulness, and want of aU genius. That 
Pindar should have equally distinguished himself from the 
rest of his fellow-citizens, in both these respects, seems some- 
what exti-aordinary, and is scarce to be accotmted for but 
by the preceding observation. 

Stanza iii. 3.J Alluding to his Defence of the People of 
England against Salmasius. See particularly the manner in 
which he liimself speaks of that undertaking, in the introduc- 
tion to his reply to Morns. 

Stanza iv. 3.] Edward the Third; from whom descended 
Henry Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon, by the daughter of 
the Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward the Fourth. 

Stanza v. 3.) At Whittington, a ^^llage on the edge of 
Scarsdale in Derbyshire, the Earls of Devonshire and Danby, 
with the Lord Defamere, privately concerted the plan of the 
Revolution. The house in which they met is at present a farm- 
ho'ise, and the country people distinguish the room where they 
Bat, by the name of the plotting parlour. 

B.'ii. Ode vii. Stanza ii. 1.] ^h: Locke died in 1704, when 



NOTES TO THE ODES. 381 

Jlr. Hoadly Tvns beginnino; to distinguish himself in the canse 
of civil and religious liberty; Lord Godolphin in 1712, when 
the doctrines of the Jacobite faction were chiefly favoured by 
those in power; Lord Somers in 1716, amid the practice^ of the 
nonjuring clergy against the protestant establishment • and 
Lord Stanhope in 1721, during the controvei^ with the lower 
liouse of convocation. 

B. ii. Otle X. Stanza v.] During Jlr. Pope's war with Theo- 
bald, Concanen, and the rest of their tribe, Mr. Warburton, 
the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester, did with great zeal 
cultivate their friendship; having been introduced, forsooth, at 
the meetings of that respectable confederacy; a favour Avhich 
he afterwards spoke of in very high terms of complacency and 
thankfulness. At the same tfme, in his intercourse with thom, 
he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous manner, and as a 
writer without genius. Of the truth of these assertions his 
lordship can have no doubt, if he recollects his own con-espon- 
dence with Concanen ; a part of which is still in being, and will 
probably be remembered as long as any of this prelate's 
"vvintings. 

B. ii. Ode xiii.] In the year 1751 appeared a very splendid 
edition, in quarto, of " Memoii'es pour servir a I'lTistoire de 
la Maison de Brandebourg, ii Berlin et a la Haye;" with a 
privilege signed Frederic ; the same being engraved in imitation 
of hand-writing. Li this edition, among Other extraordinary 
passages, are the two following, to which the third stanza of 
this ode more Darticularlj-- refers : — 

" II se fit une migration (the author is speaking of what 
happened on the revocation of the edict of Nantes) dont on 
n'avoit guere vu d'exemples dans I'histoire: un peuple entier 
sortit du royaume par I'esprit de parti, en haine du pnpf^. ^t 
pour recevoir sous un autre ciel la communion sous les deux 
esp^ces: quatre cens mille ames s'expatri^rent aiiisi et al^n- 
donn6rent tons leurs biens,pourd^tonner dans d'autres temples 
les vieux pseaumes de C](^'ment Marot." (p. 163.) 

*' La crainte donna le jour a la crf'-dulitf^ et rumour propre 
int^ressa bientot le ciel au destin des hommes." (p. 242.1 



382 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 1746.^^ 



ARGUMENT. 

The Nymphs, who preside OTer springs and rivulets, are addressed at 
daybreak, in honour of their several functions, and of the relations 
which they bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their 
origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of 
nature; according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, 
concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. 
They are then successively considered, as giving motion to the air, 
and exciting summer breezes; as nourishing and beautifying the 
vegetable creation; as contributing to the fulness of navigable 
rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of commerce; and 
by that means to the maritime part of military power. Next is 
represented their favourable influence upon health, when assisted 
by rural exercise : which introduces their connection with the art 
of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. 
Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear 
them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can 
receive; in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licemious 
poets. 

O'er yonder eastern hill the twilight pale 

Walks forth from darkness ; and the God of day, 

With bright Astroea seated by his side, 

Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs, 

Ye Nymphs, ye blae-ey'd progeny of Thames, 

Wlio now the mazes of this rugged heath 

Trace with your fleeting steps : who all night long 

Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air. 

Your lonely murmurs, tarry ; and receive 

My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due, lo 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 383 

I leave the gates of sleep ; nor shall my lyre 
Too far into the splendid hours of morn 
Engage your audience : my observant hand 
Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam 
Approach you. To your subterranean haunts 
Ye then may timely steal ; to pace with care 
The humid sands ; to loosen from the soil 
The bubbling sources ; to direct the rills 
To meet in wider channels ; or beneath 
Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon 20 
To slumber, shelter'd from the burning heaven. 

Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs ? or end ? 
Wide is your praise and copious. — First of things, 
First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose, 
Were Love and Chaos. Love, the sire of Fate ; 
Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time, 
Who many sons and many comely births 
Devour'd, relentless father ; till the child 
Of Rhea drove him from the upper sky, 29 

And quell'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd 
The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops, 
And spotless Vesta ; while supreme of sway 
Remain'd the Cloud-compeller.* From the couch 
Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race, 
Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime, 
Send tribute to their parent ; and from them 
Are ye, O Naiads : Arethusa fair. 
And tuneful Aganippe ; that sweet name, 
Bandusia ; that soft family which dwelt 
With Syrian Daphne ; and the honour'd tribes « 



S84 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 

Belov'd of Paeon. Listen to my strain, 
Daughters of Tethjs : listen to your praise. 

You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, which of old 
Aurora to divine Astraius bore, 
Owns ; and your aid beseecheth. When the might 
Of Hyperion, from his noontide throne, 
Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you 
They ask ; Favonius and the mild South-west 
From you relief implore. ' Your sallying streams 
Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. so 

Again they fly, disporting ; from the mead 
Half ripen'd and the tender blades of corn, 
To sweep the noxious mildew ; or dispel 
Contagious steams, which oft the parched earth 
Breathes on her fainting sons. From noon to eve, 
Along the river and the paved brook. 
Ascend the cheerful breezes : hail'd of bards 
Who, fast by learned Cam, the JEolian lyre 
Solicit ; nor unwelcome to the youth 
Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclin'd eo 

O'er rushing Anio, with a pious hand 
The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, 
Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp 
Of ancient Time ; and haply, w^hile he scans 
The ruins, with a silent tear revolves 
The fame and fortune of imperious Rome. 

You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid 
The rural powers confess ; and still prepare 
For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands, 
Oft as the Delian king with Sirius holds ro 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 385 

The central heavens, the father of the grove 
Commands his Dryads over your abodes 
To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god 
Remembered! how indulgent ye supplied 
Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime. 

Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray, 
Pursues your steps, delighted ; and the path 
With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts 
The laughing Chloris, with profusest hand, 
Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with 
you 80 

Pomona seeks to dwell ; and o'er the lawns, 
And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames 
Ye love to wander, Amalthea pours 
Well-pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn, 
Her dower ; unmindful of the fragrant isles 
Nyssean or Atlantic. Nor canst thou, 
(Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock 
The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn, 
O Bromius, O Lenaean) nor canst thou 
Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, so 
With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me, 
Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre. 
Accept the rites your bounty well may claim ; 
Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band. 

For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire, 
As down the verdant slope your duteous rills 
Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives. 
Delighted ; and your piety applauds ; 
And bids his copious tide roll on secure, 



386 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 

For faithful are his daughters ; and with words 
Auspicious gratulates the bark which, now wi 

His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings 
Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts 
Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn, 
When Hermes, from Olympus bent o'er earth 
To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill 
Stoops lightly-sailing ; oft intent your springs 
He views ; and waving o'er some new-born stream 
His blest pacific wand, " And yet," he cries, 
" Yet," cries the son of Maia, " though recluse 
And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs, 
Flows wealth and kind society to men. na 

By you my function and my honour'd name 
Do I possess ; while o'er the Boetic vale, 
Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms 
By sacred Ganges water'd, I conduct 
The English merchant : with the buxom fleece 
Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe 
Sarmatian kings ; or to the household gods 
Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore, 120 

Dispense the mineral treasure which of old 
Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land 
Was yet unconscious of those generous arts 
Which wise Phoenicia from their native clime 
Transplanted to a more indulgent heaven." 

Such are the words of Hermes ; such the praise, 
O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits 
Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power ; 
And those who, sedulous in prudent works, 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 387 

Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays i3o 

Witli noble wealtli, and his own seat on earth, 

Fit jiulgnu'nts to pronounce, and curb the might 

Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns 

Not vainly to the hospitable arts 

Of Hermes yield their store. F'or, O ye Nymphs, 

Ilath he not won the unconquerable queen 

Of arms to court your friendship ? You she owns 

The fair associates who extend her sway 

Wide o'er the mighty deep ; and grateful things 

Of you she uttereth, oft as from the shore ho 

Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks 

Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads 

To Calpe's foaming channel, or the rough 

Cantabrian surge ; her auspices divine 

Imparting to the senate and the prince 

Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings, 

The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings 

Was ever scorn'd by Pallas : and of old 

Rejoic'd the virgin, from the brazen prow 

Of Athens o'er ^gina's gloomy surge, iw 

To drive her clouds and storms ; o'erwhelming all 

The Persian's promis'd glory, when the realms 

Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime. 

When Lybia's torrid champaign and the rocks 

Of cold ImaiJs join'd their servile bands. 

To sweep the sons of Liberty from earth. 

In vain : Minerva on the bounding prow 

Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice 

Denounc'd her terrors on their impious heads, 



388 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 

And shook her burning segis. Xerxes saw : leo 
From Heracleum, on the mountain's height 
Thron'd in his golden car, he knew the sign 
Celestial ; felt unrighteous hope forsake 
His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with shame. 
Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power ; 
Who arm the hand of Liberty for war ; 
And give to the renown'd Britannic name 
To awe contending monarchs ; yet benign, 
Yet mild of nature : to the works of peace 
More prone, and lenient of the many ills no 

Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid 
Hygeia well can witness ; she who saves. 
From poisonous cates and cups of pleasing bane. 
The wretch devoted to the entangling snares 
Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him she leads 
To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils, 
To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn 
At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds, 
She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams ; 
And where his breast may drink the mountain 
breeze, iso 

And where the fervour of the sunny vale 
May beat upon his brow, through devious paths 
Beckons his rapid courser. Nor when ease. 
Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd 
His eager bosom, does the queen of health 
Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board 
She guards, presiding ; and the frugal powers 
With joy sedate leads in : and while the brown 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 389 

Enncean dame with Pan presents her stores ; 
While changing still, and comely in the change, 
Vertumnus and the Hours before him spread i9i 
The garden's banquet ; you to crown his feast, 
To crown his feast, Naiads, you the ftiir 
Hygeia calls ; and from your shelving seats, 
And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring, 
To slake his veins : till soon a purer tide 
Flows down those loaded channels ; washeth off 
The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds 
Of crude disease ; and through the abodes of hfe 
Sends vigour, sends repose. Hail, Naiads : hail, 
Who give, to labour, health ; to stooping age. 
The joys which youth had squander'd. Oft your 



urns 



Will I invoke ; and frequent in your praise. 
Abash the frantic Thyrsus with my song. 

For not estrang'd from your benignant arts 
Is he, the god, to whose mysterious shrine 
My youth was sacred, and my votive cares 
Belong ; the learned Paeon. Oft when all 
His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain ; 
When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm 
Rich with the genial influence of the sun, sn 

(To rouse dark fiincy from her plaintive dreams. 
To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win 
Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast 
Which pines with silent passion) he in vain 
Hath prov'd ; to your deep mansions he descends. 
Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades, 



390 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 

He enteretli ; where impurpled veins of ore 
Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine 
Your trickhng rills insinuate. There the god 220 
From your indulgent hand the streaming bowl 
Wafts to his pale-ey'd suppliants ; wafts the seeds 
Metallic and the elemental salts [soon 

Wash'd from the pregnant glebe. They drink : and 
Flies pain ; flies inauspicious care : and soon 
The social haunt or unfrequented shade 
Hears lo, lo Paean ; as of old, 
When Python felL And, O propitious Nymphs, 
Oft as for hapless mortals I implore 
Your salutary springs, through every urn 230 

shed your healing treasures ! With the first 
And finest breath, which from the genial strife 
Of mineral fermentation springs, like light 
O'er the fresh morning's vapours, lustrate then 
The fountain, and inform the rising wave. 

My lyre shall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye 
That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand 
Excite the strings to utterance, yet for themes 
Not unregarded of celestial powers, 

1 frame their language ; and the Muses deign 240 
To guide the pious tenor of my lay. 

The Muses (sacred by their gifts divine) 
In early days did to my wondering sense 
Their secrets oft reveal ; oft my rais'd ear 
In slumber felt their music ; oft at noon 
Or hour of sunset, by some lonely stream. 
In field or shady grove, they taught me words 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 391 

Of power from death and envy to preserve [mind, 
The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful 
And ofterings unprofan'd by ruder eye, 250 

My vov>^s I send, my homage, to the seats 
Of rocky Cirrha, where with you they dwell ; 
Where you their chaste companions they admit, 
Through all the hallow'd scene ; where oft intent, 
And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge, 
They mark the cadence of your confluent urns. 
How tuneful, yielding gratefullest repose 
To their consorted measure : *ill again. 
With emulation all the sounding choir. 
And bright Apollo, leader of the song, see 

Their voices through the liquid air exalt, [strings 
And sweep their lofty strings, — those powerful 
That charm the mind of gods ; that fill the courts 
Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet 
Of evils, with immortal rest from cares ; 
Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove ; 
And quench the formidable thunderbolt 
Of unrelenting fire. With slacken'd wings, 
While now the solemn concert breathes around. 
Incumbent o*er the sceptre of his lord 270 

Sleeps the stern eagle ; by the number'd notes 
Possess'd ; and satiate with the melting tone : 
Sovereign of birds. The furious god of war, 
His darts forgetting, and the winged wheels 
That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain. 
Relents, and soothes his own fierce heart to ease. 
Most welcome ease. The sire of gods and men, 



392 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 

In that great moment of divine deliglit, 
Looks down on all that live ; and whatsoe'er 
He loves not, o'er the peopled earth and o'er 2so 
The interminated ocean, he beholds 
Curs'd with abhorrence by his doom severe, 
And troubled at the sound. Ye Naiads, ye 
With ravish'd ears the melody attend 
Worthy of sacred silence. But the slaves 
Of Bacchus with tempestuous clamours strive 
To drown the heavenlv strains ; of highest Jove, 
Irreverent ; and by mad presumption fir'd 
Their own discordant raptures to advance 
With hostile emulation. Down they rush 290 

From Nysa's vine-impurpled cliff, the dames 
Of Thrace, the Satyrs, and the unruly Fauns, 
With old Silenus, reeling through the crowd 
Which gambols round him, in convulsions wild 
Tossing their limbs, and brandishing in air 
The ivy-mantled thyrsus, or the torch 
Thro' black smoke flaming, to the Phrygian pipe's 
Shrill voice, and to the flashing cymbals, mix'd 
With shrieks and frantic uproar. May the gods 
From every unpolluted ear avert aoo 

Their orgies ! If within the seats of men. 
Within the walls, the gates, where Pallas holds 
The guardian key, if haply there be found 
Who loves to mingle with the revel-band 
And hearken to their accents ; who aspires 
From such instructors to inform his breast 
With verse : let him, fit votarist, implore 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 393 

Their inspiration. He perchance the gifts 

Of young Lya?us, and tlie dread exploits, 

May sing in aptest numbers : he the fate 3io 

Of sober Pentheus, he the Paphian rites, 

And naked Mars with Cytherea chain'd, 

And strong Alcides in the spinster's robes, 

May celebrate, applauded. But with you, 

O Naiads, far from that unhallow'd rout, 

Must dwell the man whoe'er to praised themes 

Invokes the immortal Muse. The immortal Muse 

To your calm habitations, to the cave 

Corycian or the Delphic mount, will guide 

His footsteps ; and with your unsullied streams 320 

His lips will bathe : whether the eternal lore 

Of Themis, or the majesty of Jove, 

To mortals he reveal ; or teach his lyre 

The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils, 

In those unfading islands of the bless'd. 

Where sacred bards abide. Hail, honour'd Nymphs; 

Thrice hail. For you the Cyrenaic shell, 

Behold, I touch, revering. To my songs 

Be present ye with favourable feet. 

And all profaner audience far remove. 330 



2G 



394 



NOTES ON THE HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 



Line 25. Love 

Mder than Chaos.] Hesiod, in his Theogony, gives a dif- 
ferent account, and makes Chaos the eldest of beings, though 
he assigns to Love neither father nor superior; which circum- 
stance is particularly mentioned by Phcedrus, in Plato's Ban- 
quet, as being observable not only in Hesiod, but in all other 
writers both of verse and prose : and on the same occasion he 
cites a line from Parraenides, in which Love is expressly styled 
the eldest of all the gods. Yet Aristophanes, in " The Birds," 
aftirms, that " Chaos, and Night, and Erebus, and Tartarus were 
first; and that Love was procluced from an egg, which the sable- 
winged night deposited in the immense bosom of Erebus." But 
it nmst be observed, that the Love designed b}' this comic poet 
was always distinguished from the other, from that original and 
self-existent Being, the TO ON or APAOON of Plato, and 
meant only the AHMIOTPFGS or second person of the old 
Grecian trinity; to whom is inscribed a hymn among those 
which pass under the name of Orpheus, where he is caUed 
Protogonos, or the first-begotten, is said to have been born of 
an egg, and is represented as the principle or origin of aU these 
external appearances of nature. In the fragments of Orpheus, 
collected by Henry Stephens, he is named Phanes, the discov- 
erer or discloser ; who unfolded the ideas of the supreme Intel- 
ligence, and exposed them to the perception of inferior beings 
in this visible frame of the world; as Macrobius, and Pi'oclus, 
and Athenagoras, all agree to interpret the several passages or 
Orpheus which they have preserved. 

But the Love designed in our text is the one self-existent 
and infinite Mind, whom if the generality of ancient mytholo- 
gists have not introduced or truly described in accounting for 
the production of the world and its appearances ; yet, to a mo- 
dern poet, it can be no objection that he hath ventured to difler 
from them in this particular; though, in other respects, he pro- 
fesseth to imitate their manner and confonn to their opinions. 
For, in these great points of natural theology, they differ no 
less remarkably among themselves, and are perpetually con- 
foimding the philosophical relations of things with the tradi- 
tionary circumstances of mythic history; upon which very 



NOTES ON UYMN TO TUE NAIADS. 395 

account, Callimachus, in his hpnn to Jupiter, decljireth his 
dissent from them concerning even an article of the national 
creed; adding that the ancient bards were by no means to be 
depended on. And yet in the exordium of the old Argonautic 
poem, ascribed to Orpheus, it is said, that '" Love, \vliom_ mor- 
tals in later times call IMianes, was the father of the eternally- 
begotten Night;" who is generally represented by these myth- 
ological poets as being herself the parent of all things; *^and 
who, in the " Indigitamenta," or Orphic Hymns, is said to be 
the same with Cypris, or Love itself. Moreover, in the body 
of this Argonautic poem, where the personated Orpheus intro- 
duceth himself singing to his lyre in rejjly to Chu-on, he cele- 
brateth " the obscure memory of Chaos, and the natures which 
it contained witliiu itself in a state of perpetual vicissitude; 
hoAV the heaven had its boundary determined, the generation 
of the earth, tlie depth of the ocean, and also the sapient Love, 
the most ancient, the self-sufficient; with all the beings which 
he produced when he separated one thing from another." Which 
noble passage is more directly to Aristotle's purpose in the first 
book of his metaphysics than any of those which he has there 
quoted, to show that the ancient poets and mythologists agreed 
with Empedocles, Anaxagoras, and the other more sober phi- 
losophers, in that natural anticipation and common notion of 
mankind concerning the necessity of muid and reason to ac- 
count for the connection, motion, and good order of tlie world. 
For though neither this poem nor the hymns w'hich pass un- 
der the same name are, it should seem, the work of the real 
Orpheus, j^et, beyond all question, they are very ancient. The 
h^nnns, more particularly, are allowed to be older than the in- 
vasion of Greece by Xerxes, and were probably a set of public 
and solemn forms of devotion, as appears by a passage in one 
of them, which Demosthenes hath almost literalh^ cited in his 
first oration against Aristogiton, as the saying of Orpheus, the 
founder of their most holy mysteiies. On this account, they 
are of higher authority than any other mythological w-ork now 
extant, the Theogony of Hesiod himself not excepted. The 
poetry of them is often extremely noble ; and the mysterious 
air which prevails in them, together with its delightful iiupres- 
sion upon the mind, cannot be better expressed than in that 
remarkable description with which they inspired the Gemaan 
editor Eschenbach, when he accidentally met with them at 
Leipsic: " Thesaui-um me reperisse credidi," says he, "et pro- 
fecto thesaurum reperi. Licredibile dictu quo me sacro hor- 
rore aflHaverint indigitamenta ista deorum: nam et tempus ad 
illorum lectionem eligere cogebar, quod vel solum horrtjrem 
incutere animo potest, nocturnum; cum enim totam diem con- 
feumserim in contemplando urbis splendore, et in adeundis, 
quibus scatet urbs ilia, viris doctis; sola nox restabat, quam 
Orpheo consecrare potui. In abyssum quendam mysteriomm 
veueraudffi antiquitatis descendere videbar, (luotiescunque si- 



396 NOTES ON THE 

lente mundo, solis vigilantibus astris et luna, fielav7}<j)aTovg istos 
hymnos ad manus sumsi." 

Line 25. Chaos.] The unformed, undigested mass of Moses 
and Plato ; Avhich Milton calls 

" The womb of nature." 

Line 25. Love, the sire of Fate.] Fate is the universal system 
of natural causes; the work of the Ouuiiputeut Mind, or of 
Love: so Minucius Felix: " Quid enim aliud est fatum, quam 
qviod de unoquoque nostrum deus fatus est." So also Cicero, in 
the First Book on Divination: "Fatum autem id appello, quod 
Grasci ElMAPMENHN : id est, ordinem seriemque causarum, 
cum causa causae nexa rem ex se gignat — ex quo intelligitur, 
ut fatum sit non id quod superstitiose, sed id quod physice 
dicitur causa astema rerum." To the same purpose is the 
doctrine of Hierocles, in that excellent fragment concerning 
Providence and Destiny. As to the three Fates, or Desti- 
nies of the poets, they represented that part of the general 
system of natural causes which relates to man, and to other 
mortal beings; for so we are told in the hymn addressed to 
them among the Orphic Indigitamenta, Avhere they are called 
the daughters of Night (or Love), and, contrary to the vulgar 
notion, are distinguished by the epithets of gentle and tender- 
hearted. According to Hesiod, Theog. ver. 904, they were the 
daughters of Jupiter and Themis; but in the Orphic Hymn to 
Venus, or Love, that goddess is directly styled the mother oi 
Necessity, and is represented, immediately after, as governing 
the three Destinies, and conducting the whole system of natu- 
ral causes. 

Line 26. Born of Fate was Time.] Cronos, Saturn, or Time, 
was, according to Apollodorus, the son of Caelum and Tellus, 
But the author of the Hymns gives it quite undisguised by 
mythological language, and calls him plainly the offspring of 
the earth and the starry heaven ; that is, of Fate, as explained 
in the preceding note. 

Line 27. Who many sons devoured.] The known fable oi 
Saturn devouring his children was certainly meant to imply 
the dissolution ot natural bodies ; which are produced and de 
stroyed by Time. 

Line 28. The child of Ehea.] Jupiter, so called by Pindar. 

Line 29. Drove him from the vpper sky.] That Jupiter de 
throned his father Satiu'u is recorded by all the mythologists. 
Phurnutus, or Cornutus, the author of a little Greek treatise 
on the nature of the gods, informs us that by Jupiter was 
meant the vegetable soul of the world, which restrained and 
prevented those uncertain alterations which Saturn, or Time, 
used_ formerly to cause in the mundane system. 

Line 30. Then social reiyn'd.] Our mythology here sup- 
poseth, that before the establishment of the vital, vegetative, 



HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 397 

plastic nature (represented by Jupiter), the four elements were 
in a variable and unsettled condition; but afterwards, well- 
disposed and at peace among themselves. Tetliys was the wife 
of the Ocean; Ops, or Klica, the Earth; Vesta, the eldest 
danghter of Saturn, Fire; and the cloud-compeller^ or.Ztvf 
vecpsAyjepirri^, the Air: though he also represented the plastic 
principle of nature, as may be seen in the Orphic hymn in- 
scribed to him. 

Line 34. 21ie sedgy-crmimed race.^ The river-gods; who, 
according to Hesiod's Theogony, were the sous of Oceanus 
and Tethvs. 

Line 36. From them are ye, Naiads.] The descent of the 
Kaiads is less certain than most points of the Greek mytho- 
logy. Homer, Odyss. xiii. Kovpai ALog. Vir^l, in the Eighth 
Book of the iEueid, speaks as if the Nymphs, or Naiads, were 
the parents of the rivers ; but in this he contradicts the testi- 
mony of Hesiod, and evidently departs from the orthodox sys- 
tem," which representeth several nymphs as retainmg to every 
smgle river. On the other hand, Callimachus, who was very 
learned m all the school-divinity of those times, in his hymn 
to Delos, maketh Peneus, the great Thessalian river-god, the 
father of his n^miphs ; and Ovid, in the fourteenth book of his 
I^Ietamorphoses, mentions the Naiads of Latium as the imme- 
diate daughters of the neighbouring river-gods. Accordingly, 
the Naiads of particular rivers are occasionally, both by Ovid 
and Statins, called by patronymic, from the name of the river 
to which thev belong. . . 

Line 40. ^yiian Daphne.\ The grove of Daphne m Syria, 
near Antioch, was famous for its delightful fountains. _ _ 

Line 40. The tribes belov'd by Poeon.\ Mineral and medicmal 
springs. Pseon was the physician of the gods. 

Line 43. The winged offspring.] The Winds; who, accord- 
ing to Hesiod and ApoUodorus, were the sons of Astrseus and 

Line 46. Hyperion.] A son of Cselum and Tellus, and fa- 
ther of the Sun, who is thence called, by Pindar, Hyperionides. 
But Hyperion is put by Homer, m the same manner as here, 
for the" Sun himself. 

Line 49. Your sallying streams.] The state of the atmo- 
sphere with respect to i«st and motion is, in several ways, 
alfected by rivers and mnning streams ; and that more espe- 
cially in hot seasons: first they destroy its equilibrium, by 
cooling those parts of it with which they are in contact; and 
secondly, thev communicate their own motion: and the air 
which is thus" moved by them, being less heated, is of conse- 
puence more elastic than other parts ol the atmosphere, and 
therefore fitter to preserve and to propagate that motion. 

Line 70. Delian king. One of the epithets of Apollo, or the 
Sun, in the Orphic hymn inscribed to hun,* 



398 NOTES ON THE 

Line 79. Chlor-is. J The ancient Greek name for Flora. 

Line 83. AmaUhea.] Tlie mother of the first Bacchus, whose 
birth and education was written, a.s Diodorus Sicuhis informs 
us, in the old Pelasgio character, by Thymoetes, grandson to 
Laomedon, and contemporary with Urpheas. Thymoetes had 
travelled over Libya to the country which borders on the wes- 
tern ocean ; there he saw the island of Nysa, and learned from 
the inhabitants, that " Ammon, king of Libya, was married in 
former ages to Rhea, sister of Saturn and the Titans : that he 
afterwards fell in love with a beautiful virgiji whose name was 
Amalthea; had by her a son, and gave her possession of a 
neighbouring tract of land, wonderfully fertile ; which, in shape 
nearly resembling the horn of an ox, was thence called the 
Hesperian horn, and afterwards the horn of Amalthea: that, 
fearing the jealousy of Rhea, he concealed the young Bacchus, 
with his mother, m the isle of Nysa;" the beauty of which 
Diodorus describes with gi'eat dignity and pomp of style. 
This fable is one of the noblest in all the ancient mythology, 
and seems to have made a particular impression on the imagi- 
nation of Milton; the only modern poet (unless perhaps it be 
necessary to except Spenser) who, in these mysterious tradi- 
tions of the poetic story, had a heart to feel, and words to ex- 
press, the simple and solitary genius of antiquity. To raise 
the idea of his Paradise, he prefers it even to — 



That Nysean isle 



Girt by the river Triton, wtiere old Cham, 
(Whom Gentiles Ammon call, and Libyan Jove) 
Hid AmaltUea, and her tiorid sou, 
Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye." 

Line 94. Edonian band.] The priestesses and other minis- 
ters of Bacchus : so called from Edonus, a mountain of Thrace, 
where his rites were celebrated. 

Line 105. When Hermes.] Hermes, or Mercury, was the 
patron of commerce ; in which benevolent character he is ad- 
dressed by the author of the Indigitamenta, in these beautiful 
lines : — 

'EpnTjvev Travrov, Kepdqnxope^ Tivat/xepc/jive, 
"Of x^i'P^oo'lv ex£cs dprjvTjg ottAov d//£/i^€f. 

Line 121. Dispense the mineral treasure.] The merchants of 
Sidon and Tyi^e made frequent voyages to the coast of Corn- 
wall, from Avhence they carried borne great quantities of tin. 

Line 136. Hath he not loon.] Mei-cury, the patron of com- 
merce, being so gi-eatly dependent on the good offices of the 
Naiads, in return obtains for them the friendship of ]\linerva, 
the goddess of war: for military power, at least the naval part 
of it, hath constantly followed the establishment of trade; 
which exemplifies the preceding observation, that " from 
bounty issueth power." 



HYMN TO TUE NAIADS. 399 

Line 143. Cnipe — Cantabrian surge.} Gibraltai* and the 
Bay of Biscay. 

Line 150. A^(jina's r/loomi/ suiyj^-] Near this isUmd, tlie 
Athenians obtained the victuVy ot* iSalamis, over the Tersian 
navy. 

Line IGO. Xerxes saw.] This circumstance is recorded in 
that passage, periiaps the most splendid among all the remains 
of ancient history, where Plutarch, in his Life of Themistocles, 
describes the sea-fights of Arteniisium and Salamis. 

Line 204. T'li(/i'sas.\ A staff, or spear, wreathed round with 
ivy: of constant use in the Bacchanalian mysteries. 

Line 227. Jo, Fcean.\ An exclamation of victory and tri- 
umph, derived from Apollo's encounter with Python. 

Line 252. Cirrha.\ One of the summits of Parnassus, and 
sacred to Apollo. Near it were several fountains, said to be 
frequented by the Muses. Nysa, the other eminence of the 
same mountain, was dedicated to Bacchus. 

Line 263. Charm the mind of yods.] This whole passage, 
concerning the effects of sacred music among the gods, is 
taken from Pindar's first Pythian ode. 

Line 297. Phrygian pipe's. The Phrygian music was fan- 
tastic and turoulent, and fit to excite disorderly passions. 

Line 302. The gates lohere Pallas holds 

The guardian key.] It was the office of Minerva 
to be the guardian of walled cities; whence she was named 
nOAlAS and HOAIOXXOS, and had her statues placed in 
their gates, being supposed to keep the keys, and on that ac- 
count styled KAH14OYXO2. 

Line 310. Fale of sober Pentheus.] Pentheus was torn in 
pieces by the bacchanalian priests and women, for despising 
their mysteries. 

Line 318. The cave Coi-ycian.] Of this cave Pausanias, in 
his Tenth Book, gives the following description: "Between 
Delphi and the eminences of Parnassus, is a road to the grotto 
of Corycium, which has its name from the njTnph Corycia, and 
is by far the most remarkable which I have seen. One may walk 
a great way into it without a torch. 'Tis of a considerable 
height, and hath several springs within it; and yet a much 
greater quantity of water distils from the shell and roof, so as 
to be continually dropping on the ground. The people round 
Parnassus hold it sacred to the Corycian nymphs and to Pan." 

Line 319. Delphic 7nou7it.] Delphi, the seat and oracle of 
Apollo, had a mountainous and rocky situation on the skirts 
of Parnassus. 

Line 327. Cyrenatc shell.] Cyrene was the native country 
of Callimaclius, whose hymns are the most remarkable exam- 
ple of that mythological passion which is assumed in the pre- 
ceding poem, and have always aftbrded particular pleasure to 
the author of it, by reason of the mysterious solemnity with 
which they affect the mmd. On this account he was induced 



400 NOTES TO HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 

to attempt somewhat in the same manner, solely by way of 
exercise ; the manner itself being now almost entirely abandoned 
in poetry. And as the mere genealogy, or the personal adven- 
tures of heathen gods, could have been but little interesting to 
a modern reader, it was therefore thought proper to select 
some convenient part of the history of nature, and to employ 
these ancient divinities as it is probable they were first em- 
ployed ; to wit, in personifying natm-al causes, and in repre- 
senting the mutual agreement or op})osition of the corporeal 
and moral powers of the Avorld: which hath been accounted 
the veiy highest office of poetry. 



401 



INSCRIPTIONS.^^ 



FOR A GROTTO. 

To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call 
Aetata, daughter of the neighbouring stream, 
This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine. 
Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot, 
"Were placed by Glycon. He with cowslips pale, 
Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green 
Before my threshold, and my shelving walls 
With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon, 
Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, 
I slumber ; here my clustering fruits I tend ; 
Or, from the humid flowers at break of day, 
Fresh garlands weave, and chase from all my bounds 
Each thing impure or noxious. Enter in, 
O stranger, undismay'd. Nor bat nor toad 
Here lurks ; and, if thy breast of blameless thoughts 
Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread 
My quiet mansion ; chiefly, if thy name 
Wise Pallas and the immortal Muses own. 

n. 

FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER AT WOODSTOCK. 

Such was old Chaucer ; such the placid mien 
Of him who first with harmony inform'd 



402 INSCRIPTIONS. 

The lanofuaore of our fathers. Here he dwelt 
For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls 
Have often heard him, while his legends blithe 
He sang ; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles 
Of homely life : through each estate and age, 
The fashions and the follies of the world 
With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance 
From Blenheim's towers, stranger, thou art come 
Glowing with Churchill's trophies ; yet in vain 
Dost thou applaud them if thy breast be cold 
To him, this other hero ; who, in times 
Dark and untaught, began with charming verse 
To tame the rudeness of his native land. 



III. 



Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies 
Thro' yonder village, turn thee where the grove 
Of branching oaks a rural palace old 
Imbosoms. There dwells Albert, generous lord 
Of all the harvest round. And onward thence 
A low plain chapel fronts the morning light 
Fast by a silent rivulet. Humbly walk, 
O stranger, o'er the consecrated ground ; 
And on that verdant hillock, which thou seest 
Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand 
Sprinkle fresh water from the brook, and strew 
Sweet-smelling flowers. For there doth Edmund 
The learned shepherd ; for each rural art [rest, 
Fam'd, and for songs harmonious, and the woes 



INSCRIPTIONS. 403 

Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride 
Of fair Matilda sank him to the grave [ven, 

111 manhood's prime. But soon did righteous llea- 
With tears, with sharjD remorse and pining care, 
Avenge her falsehood. Nor could all the gold ' 
And nuptial pomp, which lur'd her plighted faith 
From Edmund to a loftier husband's home, 
Relieve her breaking heart, or turn aside 
The strokes of death. Go, traveller ; relate 
The mournful story. Haply some fair maid 
May hold it in remembrance, and be taught 
That riches cannot pay for truth or love. 



IV. 



YOUTHS and virgins ; O declining eld ; 
O pale misfortune's slaves ; O ye who dwell 
Unknown with humble quiet ; ye who wait 
In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings ; 
O sons of sport and pleasure ; O thou wretch 
That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds 
Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand 
Which left thee void of hope; O ye who roam 
In exile ; ye who, through the embattled field, 
Seek bright renown ; or who for nobler palms 
Contend, the leaders of a public cause ; 
Approach : behold this marble. Know ye not 
The features ? Hath not oft his faithful tongue 
Told you the fashion of your own estate, 
The secrets of your bosom ? Here then, round 



404 INSCRIPTIONS. 

His monument with reverence while ye stand, 
Say to each other: "This was Shakespeare's form; 
Wlio walk'd in every path of human Ufe, 
Felt every passion ; and to all mankind 
Doth now, will ever, that experience yield 
Which his own genius only could acquire." 



GVLIELMVS III. FORTIS, PIVS, LIBERATOR, CVM 

INEVNTE AETATE PATRIAE LABENTI ADFVISSET 

SALVS IPSE VNICA; CVM MOX ITIDEM REIPVB- 

LICAE BRITANNICAE VINDEX RENVNCIATVS ES- 

SET ATQVE STATOR ; TVM DENIQVE AD ID SE 

NATVM RECOGNOVIT ET REGEM FACTVM, VT 

CVRARET NE DOMINO IMPOTENTI CEDERENT 

PAX, FIDES, FORTVNA, GENERIS HVMANI. 

AVCTORI PVBLICAE FELICITATIS 

P. G. A. M. A. 



VI. 

FOR A COLUMN AT RUNNTMEDE. 

Thou who the verdant plain dost traverse here. 
While Thames among his willows from thy view 
Retires ; O stranger, stay thee, and the scene 
Around contemplate well. This is the place 
Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms 
And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king 



INSCRIPTIONS. 405 

(Then render'd tame) did challenge and secure 
TJie charter of thy freedom. Pass not on 
Till thou hast bless'd their memory, and paid 
Those thanks which God appointed the reward 
Of public virtue. And if chance thy home 
Salute thee with a father's honour'd name, 
Go, call thy sons ; instruct them what a debt 
They owe their ancestors ; and make them swear 
To pay it, by transmitting down entire 
Those sacred rights to which themselves were born. 

vn. 

THE WOOD NYMPH. 

Approach in silence. 'Tis no vulgar tale 

Which I, the Dryad of this hoary oak, 

Pronounce to mortal ears. The second age 

Now hasteneth to its period, since I rose 

On this fair lawn. The groves of yonder vale 

Are all my offspring; and each Nymph, who guards 

The copses and the furrow'd fields beyond. 

Obeys me. Many changes have I seen 

In human things, and many awful, deeds 

Of justice, when the ruling hand of Jove 

Against the tyrants of the land, against 

The unhallow'd sons of luxury and guile. 

Was arm'd for retribution. Thus at length 

Expert in laws divine, I know the paths 

Of wisdom, and erroneous folly's end 

Have oft presag'd ; and now well-pleas'd I wait 



406 INSCRIPTIONS. 

Each evening till a noble yontL, who loves 
My shade, awhile releas'd from public cares, 
Yon peaceful gate shall enter, and sit down 
Beneath my branches. Tlien his musing mind 
I prompt, unseen ; and place before his view 
Sincerest forms of good ; and move his heart 
With the dread bounties of the Sire supreme 
Of gods and men, with freedom's generous deeds, 
The lofty voice of glory and the faith 
Of sacred friendship. Stranger, I have told 
My function. If within thy bosom dwell 
Aught which may challenge praise, thou wilt not 
Unhonour'd my abode, nor shall I hear [leave 
A sparing benediction from thy tongue. 

VIII. 

Ye powers unseen, to whom the bards of Greece 

Erected altars ; ye who to the mind 

More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart 

With more divine emotions ; if ere while 

Not quite unpleasing have my votive rites 

Of you been deem'd, when oft this lonely seat 

To you I consecrated ; then vouchsafe 

Here with your instant energy to crown 

My happy solitude. It is the hour 

When most I love to invoke you, and have felt 

Most frequent your glad ministry divine. 

The air is calm : the sun's unveiled orb 

Shines in the middle heaven. The harvest round 



INSCRIPTIONS. 407 

Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves 
The reapers lie reclin'd. The neighbouring groves 
Are mute ; nor even a linnet's random strain . 
Echoeth amid the silence. Let me feel 
Your influence, ye kind powers. Aloft in heaven, 
Abide ye ? or on those transparent clouds 
Pass ye from hill to hill ? or on the shades 
Which yonder elms cast o'er the lake below 
Do you converse retir'd ? From what lov'd haunt 
Shall I expect you ? Let me once more feel 
Your influence, O ye kind inspiring powers : 
And I will guard it well ; nor shall a thought 
Bise in my mind, nor shall a passion move 
Across my bosom unobserv'd, unstor'd 
By faithful memory. And then at some 
More active moment, will I call them forth 
Anew ; and join them in majestic forms. 
And give them utterance in harmonious strains; 
That all mankind shall wonder at your sway. 

IX. 

Me though in life's sequester'd vale 
The Almighty Sire ordain'd to dwell, 
Remote from glory's toilsome ways. 
And the great scenes of public praise ; 
Yet let me still with grateful pride 
Remember how my infant frame 
He temper'd with prophetic flame, 
And early music to my tongue supplied. 



408 INSCRIPTIONS. 

'Twas then my future fate he welgh'd, 
And, this be thy concern, he said, 
At once with Passion's keen alarms, 
And Beauty's pleasurable charms, 
And sacred Truth's eternal liglit, 
To move the various mind of Man ; 
Till, under one unblemish'd plan. 
His Reason, Fancy, and his Heart unite. 



409 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO.* 

Thrice has the spring beheld thy faded fame, 
And the fourth winter rises on thy shame, 
Since I, exulting, grasp'd the votive shell, 
In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell ; 
Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine, 
And proud to mix my memory with thine. 
But now the cause that wak'd my song before, 
With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more. 
If to the glorious man whose faithful cares. 
Nor quell'd by malice, nor relax'd by years. 
Had aw'd Ambition's wild audacious hate. 
And dragg'd at length Corruption to her fate ; 
If every tongue its large applauses ow'd. 
And well-earn'd laurels every Muse bestow'd j 
If public Justice urg'd the high reward, 
And Freedom smil'd on the devoted bard ; 

* First published in thef year 1744, when a celebrated 
patriot, after a long, and at last successful opposition to an 
unpopular minister, had deserted the cause of his country, 
and become the foremost in support and defence of the same 
measures he had so steadily and for such a length of time 
contended against. It was afterwards altered into an " Ode 
to Curio." 'Sio p. 300. . . ^ ,.. .u 

Curio was a young Roman senator of distinguished birth 
and parts, who, upon his first entrance into the forum, had 
been committed to the care of Cicero. Being profuse and 
extravagant, he soon dissipated a large and splendid fortune; 
to suppiv the want of wliich, he was driven to the necessity 
of abetting the designs of Caesar against the liberties of his 
country, although he had before been a professed enemy to 
him. *Cicero exerted himself with great energy to prevent 
his ruin, but without effect, and he became one of the first 
victims in the civil wai*. 



410 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 

Say then, to him whose levity or lust 
Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust ; 
Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power, 
And sav'd Corruption at her hopeless hour ; 
Does not each tongue its execrations owe ? 
Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow ? 
And public Justice sanctify the award ? 
And Freedom's hand protect the impartial bard ? 

Yet long reluctant I forbore thy name, 
Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame, 
Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes, 
And wish'd and hop'd the light again would rise. 
But since thy guilt still more entire appears, 
Since no art hides, no supposition clears ;.r 
Since vengeful Slander now too sinks her blast, 
And the first rage of Party-hate is past ; 
Calm as the judge of truth, at length I come 
To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy doom : ' 
So may my trust from all reproach be free ; 
And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree. 

There are who say they yiew'd without amaze 
The sad reverse of all thy former praise : 
That, through the pageants of a patriot's name, 
They pierc'd the foulness of thy secret aim ; 
Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw 
The public thunder on a private foe. 
But I, whose soul consented to thy cause. 
Who felt tliy genius stamp its own applause, 
Who saw the- spirits of each glorious age 
Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage ; 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 411 

I scorn'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds, 

The owl-ey'd race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds. 

Spite of the learned in the ways of vice, . 

And all who prove that " each man has his price,"^ 

I still believ'd thy end was just and free ; 

And yet, even yet believe it — spite of thee. 

Even though thy mouth impure has dared disclaim, 

Urg'd by the wretched impotence of shame, 

Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid 

To laws infirm, and liberty decay'd ; 

Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show ; 

Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe ; 

Has boasted in thy country's awful ear. 

Her jjross delusion when she held thee dear ; '-' 

How tame she follow'd thy tempestuous call, 

And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all. — 

Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old 

For laws subverted, and for cities sold ! 

Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt. 

The oaths you perjur'd, and the blood you spilt; 

Yet must you one untempted vileness own, 

One dreadful palm reserv'd for him alone ; 

With studied arts his country's praise to spurn, 

To beg the infamy he did not earn. 

To challenge hate when honour was his due. 

And plead his crimes w^here all his virtue knew. 

Do robes of state the guarded heart enclose 

From each fair feeling human nature knows ? 

Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear 

To all that reason, all that sense would hear ? 



412 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 

Else coultl[st] thou e'er desert thy sacred post, 
In such unthankful baseness to be lost? 
Else couldst thou wed the emptiness of vice, 
And yield thy glories at an idiot's price ? 

When they who, loud for liberty and laws. 
In doubtful times had fought their country's cause, 
When now of conquest and dominion sure. 
They sought alone to hold their fruits secure ; 
When taught by these, Oppression hid the face, 
To leave Corruption stronger in her place. 
By silent spells to work the public fate. 
And taint the vitals of the passive state. 
Till healing Wisdom should avail no more. 
And Freedom loathe to tread the poison'd shore ; 'i "^ 
Then, like some guardian god that Hies to save 
The weary pilgrim from an instant grave, 
Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake 
Steals near and nearer thro' the peaceful brake ; 
Then Curio rose to ward the public woe. 
To wake the heedless, and incite the slow, 
Against Corruption Liberty to arm. 
And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm. 

Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew. 
And with thy country's hopes thy honours grew. ^^ 
Thee, patriot, the patrician roof confess'd ; 
Tliy powerful voice the rescued merchant bless'd; 
Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds ; 
The bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns ; 
Touch'd in the sighing shade with manlier fires, 
To trace thy steps the love-sick youth aspires ; 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 413 

The learn'd recluse, who oft amaz'd had read 
Of Grecian heroes, llomaii patriots dead, 
AVith new amazement hears a living name 
Pretend to share in such forgotten fame ; ' 
And he who, scorning courts and courtly ways, 
Left the tame track of these dejected days. 
The life of nobler ages to renew 
In virtues sacred from a monarch's view, 
Rous'd by thy labours from the blest retreat, 
Where social ease and public passions meet. 
Again ascending treads the civil scene. 
To act and be a man, as thou hadst been. 

Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew, 
And the great end appear'd at last in view : ■'*" 
We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice. 
We saw the senate bending to thy voice ; 
The friends of freedom hail'd the approaching reign 
Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain ; 
While venal Faction, struck with new dismay. 
Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay. 
Wak'd in the shock, the public Genius rose, 
Abash'd and keener from his long repose ; 
Sublime in ancient pride, he rais'd the S})ear 
Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear. 
The city felt his call ; from man to man, 
From street to street, the glorious horror ran ; 
Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power, 
And, murmuring, challeng'd the decided hour. 

Lo ! the deciding hour at last appears ; 
The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears ! 



414 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 

Thou, Genius ! guardian of the Roman name, 
O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame, 
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll. 
And guide each movement steady to the goal ! )^^ 
Ye spirits by whose providential art 
Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart, 
Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind. 
And watch his fancy, and his passions bind ! 
Ye shades immortal, who, by Freedom led. 
Or in the field or on the scaffold bled, 
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye, 
And view the crown of all your labours nigh. 
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne, 
The sword submitted, and the laws her own ; \' ' 
See public power chastis'd beneath her stands, 
With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands ; 
See private life by wisest arts reclaim'd ; 
See ardent youth to noblest manners fram'd ; 
See us acquire whate'er was sought by you. 
If Curio, only Curio, will be true. 

'T was then — O shame ! O trust how ill repaid ! 
O Latium, oft by faithless sons betray'd ! — 
'Twas then — What frenzy on thy reason stole ? 
What spells unsinew'd thy determin'd soul ? ^'^' 
— Is this the man in Freedom's cause approv'd ? 
The man so great, so honour'd, so belov'd ? 
This patient slave by tinsel chains allur'd ? 
This wretched suitor for a boon abjur'd ? 
This Curio, hated and despis'd by all, 
Who fell himself, to w^ork his country's fall ? 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 



415 



O lost, alike to action and repose, 
Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes ; 
T\'ith all that conscious, undissembled pride, ^ ' 
Sold to the insults of a foe defied ', ^'^^"> 
With all that habit of familiar fame, 
Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame ; 
The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art 
To act a statesman's dull, exploded part, 
Renounce the praise no longer in thy power, 
Display thy virtue, though without a dower, 
Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind. 
And shut thy eyes that others may be blind ! 

Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile, *^ 

When shameless mouths your majesty defile, ' r^ 
Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong crew, 
And cast their own impieties on you. 
For witness. Freedom, to whose sacred power 
My soul was vow'd from reason's earliest hour. 
How have I stood, exulting to survey 
My country's virtues, opening in thy ray ! 
How, with the sons of every foreign shore 
The more I match'd them, honour'd hers the more ! ^- 
■ O race erect! whose native strength of soul. 
Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control, 
Bursts the tame round of animal affairs. 
And seeks a noble centre for its cares ; 
Intent the laws of life to comprehend. 
And fix dominion's limits by its end. 
Who, bold and equal in their love or hate, 
By conscious reason judging every state, 



416 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 

The man forget not, though in rags he lies, 

And know the mortal through a crown's disguise : 

Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view 

Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow, 

Or, all awake at pity's soft command. 

Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious hand ; 

Thence large of heart, from envy far remov'd, 

When public toils to virtue stand approv'd, 

Not the young lover fonder to admire, 

Not more indulgent the delighted sire ; 

Yet high and jealous of their free-born name, 

Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame, 

Where'er Oppression works her wanton sway, 

Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay.., > 

But if to purchase Curio's sage applause, 

My country must with him renounce her cause, 

Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod. 

Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod ; 

Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to rail. 

Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail : 

Else, ere he change the style, bear me away 

To where the Gracchi,* where the Bruti stay ! 

O long rever'd, and late resign'd to shame. 
If this uncourtly page thy notice claim, -,v'' 
When the loud cares of business are withdrawn. 
Nor well-drest beggars round thy footsteps fawn ; 



* The two brothers, Tiberius and Caius €l-acchus, lost their 
lives in attempting to introduce tlie only i-egulation that could 
rive stability and good order to the Roman republic. L. Junius 
Brutus founded the commonwealth, and died in its defence. 



AN EHSTLE TO CTTRIO. 417 

In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour, 
When Truth exerts her unresisted power. 
Breaks the false optics ting'd with fortune's glare, 
Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions bare ; 
Then turn thy eyes on that important scene, 
And ask thyself if all be well within ! 
Where is the heart-felt worth, and weight of soul, 
Which labour could not stop, nor fear control ? - 
Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe. 
Which, half abash'd, the proud and venal saw ? 
Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause ? 
Where the delightful taste of just applause ? 
Where the strong reason, the commanding tongue, 
On which the senate fir'd or trembling hung ? 
All vanish'd, all are sold ; and in their room, 
Couch'd in thy bosom's deep, distracted gloom. 
See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell, 
Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell ! ^ •' 
To her in chains thy dignity was led ; 
At her polluted shrine thy honour bled ; 
With blasted weeds thy awful brow she crown'd. 
Thy powerful tongue with poison'd philters bound, 
That baffled Reason straight indignant Hew, 
And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew : 
For now no longer Truth supports thy cause ; 
No longer Glory prompts thee to applause ; 
No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast, 
With all her conscious majesty confest, ^ ^^^ 
Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame, 
To rouse the feeble, and the wilful tame, 



418 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 

And wliere she sees the catching glimpses roll, 
Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul ; 
But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill, 
And formal passions mock thy struggling will ; 
Or if thy Genius e'er forget his chain, 
And reach impatient at a nobler strain, 
Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth 
Shoot thro' thy breast, and stab the generous birth, 
Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy tost, 
And all the tenor of thy reason lost. 
Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear ; 
While some with pity, some Avith laughter hear. 
— Can art, alas ! or genius guide the head. 
Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled? 
Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke. 
When the prime function of the soul is broke ? 
But come, unhappy man ! thy fates impend ; 
Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend ; 
Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine, 
Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign ; 
For see the hand of Destiny display'd 
To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd ! 
See the dire fane of Infamy arise, 
Dark as the grave, and spacious as the skies ; 
Where, from the first of time, thy kindred train. 
The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain. 
Eternal barriers guard the pathless road 
To warn the wanderer of the curst abode ; 
But prone as whirlwinds scour the passive sky. 
The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly. 



AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 419 

There, black with frowns, relentless Time awaits, 
And goads their footsteps to the guilty gates ; 
And still he asks them of their unknown aims, 
Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims ; 
And still his hands despoil them on the road 
Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestow'd ; 
Break their proud marbles, crush their festal cars, 
And rend the lawless trophies of their wars, ^f 
At last the gates his potent voice obey ; 
Fierce to their dark abode he drives his prey ; 
Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chains, 
The watchful demon o'er her vassals reigns, 
O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust, 
The great, the sage, the happy, and august.* 
No gleam of hope their baleful mansion cheers, 
No sound of honour hails their unblest ears ; 
But dire reproaches from the friend betray'd, 
The childless sire, and violated maid ; 
But vengeful vows for guardian laws effac'd, 
From towns enslav'd, and continents laid waste ; 
But long posterity's united groan. 
And the sad charge of horrors not their own, 
For ever through the trembling space resound, 
And sink each impious forehead to the ground. 

Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest. 
Give way, do homage to a mightier guest ! 
Ye daring spirits of the Roman race, ¥^ 
See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface ! ' 

* Titles which have been generally ascribed to the most 
pernicious of men. 



420 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. 

— Aw'd at the name, fierce Appius* rising bends, 
And hardy Cinna from his throne attends : 
" He comes," they cry, " to whom the fates assign'd 
With surer arts to work what we design'd. 
From year to year the stubborn herd to sway. 
Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey ; 
Till own'd their guide, and trusted with their power, 
He mock'd their hopes in one decisive hour ; 
Then, tir'd and yielding, led them to the chain, 'r^'^^ 
And quench'd the spirit we provok'd in vain." .'/o 
But thou. Supreme, by whose eternal hands 
Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands ; 
Whose thunders the rebellious deep control. 
And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul, 
O turn this dreadful omen far away ! 
On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay : 
Relume her sacred fire, so near suppress'd. 
And fix her shrine in every Roman breast. 
Though bold corruption boast around the land, "^ 
" Let virtue, if she can, my baits withstand ;"'^''' 
Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim, 
Gay with her trophies rais'd on Curio's shame ; 
Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth, 
Who know what conscience and a heart are worth. 

O Friend and Father of the human mind, 
Whose art for noblest ends our frame design'd, 
If I, though fated to the studious shade 
Which party -strife nor anxious power invade ; 

* Appius Claudius the Decemw, and L. Cornelius Cinna, 
both attempted to establish a tyrannical dominion in Rome, 
aaid botli perished by the treason. 



THE VIRTUOSO. 421 

If I aspire, in public virtue's cause, '-^ 

To guide the Muses by sublimer laws ; ' 

Do thou her own authority impart, 

And give my numbers entrance to the heart. 

Perhaps the verse might rouse her smother'd flame, 

And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame ; 

Perhaps, by worthy thoughts of human kind, 

To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind ; 

Or dash Corruption in her proud career. 

And teach her slaves that Vice was born to fear. 



^^^. 



THE VIRTUOSO ;i 



IN IMITATION OF SPENSER'S STYLE AND STANZA. 



•Videmus 



Nugari solitos. — Pebsius. 

Whilom by silver Thames's gentle stream, 
In London town there dwelt a subtile wight ; 

A wight of mickle wealth and mickle fame, 
Book-learn'd and quaint ; a Virtuoso hight. 

Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight ; 
From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease. 

Nor ceasen he from study, day or night ; 
Until (advancing onward by degrees) 
He knew whatever breeds on earth, or air, or 
seas. 



422 THE VIRTUOSO. 

He many a creature did anatomize, 

Almost unpeopling water, air, ai\d land ; 

Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies, 
"Were laid full low by Lis relentless hand. 

That oi't with gory crimson was distain'd : 
He many a dog destroy'd, and many a cat ; 

Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drain'd, 
Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat, 
And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat. 

He knew the various modes of ancient times, 

Their arts and fashions of each different guise, 
Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes, 

Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities ; 
Of old habiliments, each sort and size, 

Male, female, high and low, to him were known; 
Each gladiator-dress, and stage disguise ; 

With learned, clerkly phrase he could have shown 

How the Greek tunic differ'd from the Roman 

[gown. 
A curious medallist, I wot, he was, 

And boasted many a course of ancient coin ; 
Well as his wife's he knewen every face. 

From Julius Caesar down to Constantine : 
For some rare sculpture he would oft ypine, 

(As green-sick damosels for husbands do ;) 
And when obtained, with enraptur'd eyne. 

He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view. 

And look, and look again, as he would look it 
through. 



THE VIRTUOSO. 423 

His rich museum, of dimensions fair, [fraught : 
With goods that spoke the owner's mind was 

Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare. 
From sea and hind, from Greece and Rome 
were brought. 

Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought : 
On these all tides with joyous eyes he por'd ; 

And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought, 
When he beheld his cabinets thus stor'd, 
Than if he'd been of Albion's wealthy cities lord. 

Here in a corner stood a rich scrutoire, 

With many a curiosity replete ; 
In seemly order furnish'd every drawer, 

Products of art or nature as was meet ; 
Air-pumps and prisms v^ere plac'd beneath his feet, 

A Memphian mummy-king hung o'er his head; 
Here phials with live insects small and great, 

There stood a tripod of the Pythian maid ; 

Above, a crocodile diffus'd a grateful shade. 

Fast by the window did a table stand, 

Where hodiern and antique rarities, [land. 

From Egypt, Greece, and Rome, from sea and 
Were thick-besprent of every sort and size : 

Here a Bahaman-spider's carcass lies. 

There a dire serpent's golden skin doth shine ; 

Here Indian feathers, fruits, and glittering flies ; 
There gums and amber found beneath the line, 
The beak of Ibis here, and there an Antonine. 



424 THE VIRTUOSO. 

Close at his back, or whispering in his ear, 

There stood a spright ycleped Phantasy ; 
Which, wheresoe'er he went, was always near : 

Her look was wild, and roving was her eye ; 
Her hair was clad with flowers of every dye ; 

Her glistering robes were of more various hue 
Than the fair bow that paints the cloudy sky. 

Or all the spangled drops of morning dew ; 

Their colour changing still at every different 

[view. 
Yet in this shape all tides she did not stay, 

Various as the chameleon that she bore ; 
Now a grand monarch with a crown of hay. 

Now mendicant in silks and golden ore : 
A statesman, now equipp'd to chase the boar. 

Or cowled monk, lean, feeble, and unfed ; 
A clown-like lord, or swain of courtly lore ; 

Now scribbling dunce in sacred laurel clad. 

Or papal father now, in homely weeds array'd. 

The wight whose brain this phantom's power doth 
fill. 

On whom she doth with constant care attend, 
Will for a dreadful giant take a mill. 

Or a grand palace in a hog-stye find : 
(From her dire influence me may heaven defend !) 

All things with vitiated sight he spies ; 
Neglects his family, forgets his friend. 

Seeks painted trifles and fantastic toys, 

And eagerly pursues imaginary joys. 



425 



AMBITION AND CONTENT.^'' 

. A FABLE. 
Optat quietem. — HoR. 

While yet the world was young, and men were few, 
Nor lurking fraud, nor tyrant rapine knew. 
In virtue rude, the gaudy arts they scorn'd. 
Which, virtue lost, degenerate times adorn'd : 
No sumptuous fabrics yet were seen to rise. 
Nor gushing fountains taught to invade the skies ; 
With nature, art had not begun the strife, 
Nor swelling marble rose to mimic life ; 
No pencil yet had learn'd to express the fair ; 
The bounteous earth was all their homely care. 

Then did Content exert her genial sway, 
And taught the peaceful world her power to obey ; 
Content, a female of celestial race. 
Bright and complete in each celestial grace. 
Serenely fair she was, as rising day. 
And brighter than the sun's meridian ray ; 
Joy of all hearts, delight of every eye. 
Nor grief nor pain appear'd when she was by ; 
Her presence from the wretched banish'd care, 
Dispcrs'd the swelling sigh and stopt the falling tear. 

Long did the nymph her regal state maintain, 
As long mankind were blest beneath her reign ; 
Till dire Ambition, hellish fiend, arose. 
To plague the world, and banish man's repose : 



426 AMBITION AND CONTENT. 

A monster sprung from that rebellious crew, 

Which miglity Jove's Phlegraean thunder slew. 

Resolv'd to dispossess the royal fair, 

On all her friends he threaten'd open war : 

Fond of the novelty, vain, fickle man. 

In crowds to his infernal standard ran ; 

And the weak maid, defenceless left alone. 

To avoid his rage, was forc'd to quit the throne. 

It chanc'd as wandering thro' the fields she stray'd, 
Forsook of all, and destitute of aid. 
Upon a rising mountain's flowery side, 
A pleasant cottage roof 'd with turf she spied : 
Fast by a gloomy, venerable wood 
Of shady planes and ancient oaks it stood. 
Around a various prospect charm'd the sight; 
Here waving harvests clad the field with white ; 
Here a rough shaggy rock the clouds did pierce. 
From which a torrent rush'd with rapid force ; 
Here mountain-woods diff'us'd a dusky shade ; 
Here flocks and herds in flowery valleys play'd. 
While o'er the matted grass the liquid crystal stray'd. 
In this sweet place there dwelt a cheerful pair. 
Though bent beneath the weight of many a year ; 
Who, wisely flying public noise and strife. 
In this obscure retreat had pass'd their life ; 
The husband Industry was call'd, Frugality the wife. 
With tenderest friendship mutually blest, 
No household jars had e'er disturb'd their rest. 
A numerous ofispring grac'd their homely board. 
That still with nature's simple gifts was stor'd. 



AMBITION AND CONTENT. 427 

Tlie father rural business only knew; 

The sons tlie same delightful art pursue. 

An only daughter, .as a goddess fair, 

Above tlie rest was the fond mother's care ; ' 

Plenty ; the brightest nymph of all the plain, 

Each heart's delight, ador'd by every swain. 

Soon as Content this charming scene espied. 

Joyful within herself the goddess cried : 

" This happy sight my drooping heart doth raise ; 

The gods, I hope, will grant me gentler days. 

When with prosperity my life was blest. 

In yonder house I've been a w^elcome guest : 

There now, perhaps, I may protection find ; 

For royalty is banish'd from my mind. 

I'll thither haste : how happy should I be, 

If stlch a refuge were reserv'd for me ! " [way 

Thus spoke the fair ; and straight she bent her 
To the tall mountain, where the cottage lay : 
Arriv'd, she makes her chang'd condition known ; 
Tells how the rebels drove her from the throne ; 
What painful, dreary wilds she'd wander'd o'er ; 
And shelter from the tyrant doth implore. 

The faithful, aged pair at once were seiz'd 
With joy and grief, at once were pain'd and pleas'd ; 
Grief for their banish'd queen their hearts possest, 
And joy succeeded for their future guest: 
" And if you'll deign, bright goddess, here to dwell, 
And with your presence grace our humble cell, 
Whate'er the gods have given with bounteous hand, 
Our harvests, fields, and flocks, our all command." 



128 AMBITION AND CONTENT. 

Meantime, Ambition, on bis rival's fligbt, 
Sole lord of man. attain'd bis wisli's beigbt ; 
Of all dependence on bis subjects cas'd, 
He rag'd witbout a curb, and did wbate'er be pleas'd ; 
As some wild flame, driven on by furious winds, 
Wide spreads destruction, nor resistance finds ; 
So rusb'd tbe fiend destructive o'er tbe plain, 
Defac'd tbe labours of tbe industrious swain ; 
Polluted every stream witb buman gore. 
And scatter'd plagues and deatb from sbore to sbore. 

Great Jove bebeld it from tbe Olympian towers. 
Wbere sate assembled all tbe beavenly powers ; 
Tben witb a nod tbat sbook tbe empyrean tbrone, 
Tbus tbe Saturnian tbunderer begun : 
" You see, immortal inmates of tbe skies, 
How tbis vile wretcb almigbty power defies ; ' 
His daring crimes, tbe blood wbicb be lias spilt, 
Demand a torment equal to his guilt. 
Tben, Cyprian goddess, let tby migbty boy 
Swift to tbe tyrant's guilty palace fly ; 
Tbere let him choose his sharpest, hottest dart, 
And with bis former rival wound his heart. 
And thou, ray son, (tbe god to Hermes said,) 
Snatch up thy wand, and plume tby heels and head ; 
Dart through tbe yielding air with all thy force, 
And down to Pluto's realms direct thy course ; 
There rouse Oblivion from her sable cave, 
"Where dull she sits by Lethe's sluggish wave ; 
Command her to secure the sacred bound, 
Where lives Content retir'd, and all around 



THE POET. 429 

Diffuse the deepest glooms of Stygian night, 
And screen the virgin from the tyrant's sight; 
That the vain purpose of his hfe may try 
Still to explore, what still eludes his eye." 
He spoke ; loud praises shake the bright abode, 
And all applaud the justice of the god. 



THE POET: A EHAPSODY.^i 

Of all the various lots around the ball, 
Which fate to man distributes, absolute ; 
Avert, ye gods ! that of the Muse's son, 
Curs'd with dire poverty ! poor hungry wretch ! 
What shall he do for life ? he cannot work 
With manual labour : shall those sacred hands, 
That brought the counsels of the gods to light; 
Shall that inspired tongue, which every Muse 
Has touch'd divine, to charm the sons of men ; 
These hallow'd organs ! these ! be prostitute 
To the vile service of some fool in power, 
All his behests submissive to perform, 
Howe'er to him ingrateful ? Oh ! he scorns 
The ignoble thought ; with generous disdain, 
More eligible deeming it to starve. 
Like his fam'd ancestors renown'd in verse, 
Than poorly bend to be another's slave,-— 
Than feed and fatten in obscurity. 



430 THE POET. 

These are his firm resolves, which fate, nor time, 

Nor poverty can shake. Exalted high 

In garret vile he lives ; with remnants hung 

Of tapestry. But oh ! precarious state 

Of this vain transient world ! all-powerful time, 

AVhat dost thou not subdue ? See what a chasm 

Gapes wide, tremendous ! see where Saul, enrag'd, 

High on his throne, encompass'd by his guards, 

With levell'd spear, and arm extended, sits, 

Ready to pierce old Jesse's valiant son, 

Sppil'd of his nose ! — around in tottering ranks, 

On shelves pulverulent, majestic stands 

His library ; in ragged plight, and old ; 

Replete with many a load of criticism, 

Elaborate products of the midnight toil 

Of Belgian brains ; snatch'd from the deadly hands 

Of murderous grocer, or the careful wight, 

Who vends the plant, that clads the happy shore 

Of Indian Patomack ; which citizens 

In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot 

Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose 

Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate. 

Elsewhere the dome is fill'd with various heaps 
Of old domestic lumber : that huge chair 
Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne ; 
Here a broad massy table stands, o'erspread 
With ink and pens, and scrolls replete with rhyme ; 
Chests, stools, old razors, fractur'd jars, half full 
Of muddy Zythum, sour and spiritless ; 
Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils 



THE POET, 431 

Of various fashion, and of various use, 
With friendl}'' influence hide the sable floor. 

This is tlie bard's museum, this the fane 
To Phoebus sacred, and the Aonian maids : 
But oh ! it stabs his heart, tliat niggard fate 
To him in such small measure should dispense 
Her better gifts : to him ! whose generous soul 
Could relish, with as fine an elegance, 
The golden joys of grandeur and of wealth ; 
He who could tyrannize o'er menial slaves, 
Or swell beneath a coronet of state, 
Or grace a gilded chariot with a mien 
Grand as the haughtiest Timon of them all. 

But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny. 
Here he must rest and brook the best he can, 
To live remote from grandeur, learning, wit ; 
Immured amongst the ignoble, vulgar herd, 
Of lowest intellect ; whose stupid souls 
But half inform their bodies ; brains of lead 
And tongues of thunder ; whose insensate breasts 
Ne'er felt the rapturous, soul-entrancing fire 
Of the celestial Muse ; whose savage ears 
Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor even the names 
Of the Venusian bard, or critic sage 
Full-fam'd of Stagyra ; whose clamorous tongues 
Stun the tormented ear with colloquy. 
Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent; 
Replete with boorish scandal ; yet, alas ! 
This, this ! he must endure, or muse alone, 
Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme, 



482 THE POET. 

Or line imperfect — No ! the door is free, 
And calls him to evade their deafening clang, 
By. private ambulation ; — 'tis resolv'd : 
Off from his waist he throws the tatter'd gown, 
Beheld with indignation ; and unloads 
His pericranium of the weighty cap, 
Witli sweat and grease discolour'd ; then explores 
The spacious chest, and from its hollow womb 
Draws his best robe, yet not from tincture free 
Of age's reverend russet, scant and bare ; 
Then down his meagre visage waving flows 
The shadowy peruke ; crown'd with gummy hat 
Clean brush'd ; a cane supports him. Thus equipp'd 
He sallies forth ; swift traverses the streets. 
And seeks the lonely walk. " Hail, sylvan scenes, 
Ye groves, ye valleys, ye meandering brooks, 
Admit me to your joys," in rapturous phrase. 
Loud he exclaims ; while with the inspiring Muse 
His bosom labours ; and all other thoughts, 
Pleasure and wealth, and poverty itself. 
Before her influence vanish. Rapt in thought, 
Fancy presents before his ravish'd eyes 
Distant posterity, upon his page [sons 

With transport dwelling; while bright learning's 
That ages hence must tread this earthly ball. 
Indignant, seem to curse the thankless age 
That starv'd such merit. Meantime swallow'd up 
In meditation deep, he wanders on, 
Unweeting of his way. — But ah ! he starts, 
With sudden fright ; his glaring eye-balls roll, 



TH£ POET. 433 

Pale turn his cheeks, and shake his loosen'd joints ; 

His cogitations vanish into air, 

Like painted bubbles, or a morning dream. 

Behold the cause ! see ! through the opening glade, 

With rosy visage, and abdomen grand, 

A cit, a dun ! — As in Apulia's wilds. 

Or where the Thracian Hebrus rolls his wave, 

A heedless kid, disportive, roves around, 

Unheeding, till upon the hideous cave 

Of the dire wolf she treads ; half-dead she views 

His bloodshot eye-balls, and his dreadful fangs, 

And swift as Eurus from the monster flies. 

So fares the trembling bard ; amaz'd he turns. 

Scarce by his legs upborne ; yet fear supplies 

The place of strength ; straight home he bends his 

Nor looks behind him till he safe regain [course, 

His faithful citadel ; there spent, fatigu'd, 

He lays him down to ease his heaving lungs, 

Quaking, and of his safety scarce convinc'd. 

Soon as the panic leaves his panting breast, 

Down to the Muse's sacred rites he sits, 

Volumes pil'd round him ; see ! upon his brow 

Perplex'd anxiety, and struggling thought. 

Painful as female throes : whether the bard 

Displays the deeds of heroes ; or the fall 

Of vice, in lay dramatic ; or expand 

The lyric wing ; or in elegiac strains 

Lament the fair ; or lash the stubborn age, 

With laughing satire ; or in rural scenes [brains 

With shepherds sport ; or rack his hard-bound 



434 THE POET. 

For the unexpected turn. Arachne so, 
In dusty kitchen corner, from her bowels 
Spins the fine web ; but spins with better fate 
Than the poor bard: she! caitiff! spreads her 

snares, 
And with their aid enjoys luxurious life, 
Bloated with fat of insects, flesh'd in blood : 
He ! hard, hard lot ! for all his toil and care, 
And painful watchings, scarce protracts awhile 
His meagre, hungry days ! ungrateful world ! 
If with his drama he adorn the stage, 
No worth-discerning concourse pays the charge. 
Or of the orchestra, or the enlightening torch. 
He who supports the luxury and pride 
Of craving Lais ; he ! whose carnage fills 
Dogs, eagles, lions ; has not yet enough, 
Wherewith to satisfy the greedier maw 
Of that most ravenous, that devouring beast, 
Yclep'd a poet. What new Halifax, 
What Somers, or what Dorset canst thou find. 
Thou hungry mortal ? break, wretch, break thy quill, 
Blot out the studied image ; to the flames 
Commit the Stagyrite ; leave this thankless trade ; 
Erect some peddling stall, with trinkets stock'd. 
There earn thy daily halfpence, nor again 
Trust the false Muse ; so shall the cleanly meal 
Repel intruding hunger. — Oh ! 'tis vain, 
The friendly admonition's all in vain ; 
The scribbling itch has seiz'd him, he is lost 
To all advice, and starves for starving's sake. 



A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 435 

Thus sung the sportful Muse, in mirthful mood, 
Indulging gay the frolic vein of youth ; 
But, O ye gods ! avert the impending stroke 
This luckless omen threatens ! Hark ! methinks 
I hear my better angel cry, " Retreat, 
Rash youth ! in time retreat ! let those poor bards 
Who sHghted all, all ! for the flattering Muse, 
Yet curs'd with pining want, as landmarks stand, 
To wai'n thee from the service of the ingrate." 



A BRITISH PHILIPPIC :22 

OCCASIONED BY THE ENSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS, AND THE 
PRESENT PREPARATIONS FOR WAR. 1738. 

Whence this unwonted transport in my breast ? 

Why glow my thoughts, and whither would the Muse 

Aspire with rapid wing ? Her country's cause 

Demands her efforts : at that sacred call 

She summons all her ardour, throws aside 

The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump 

She means to thunder in each British ear ; 

And, if one spark of honour or of fame, 

Disdain of insult, dread of infamy. 

One thought of public virtue yet survive, 

She means to wake it, rouse the generous flame, 

With patriot zeal inspirit every breast, 

And fire each British heart with British wrongs. 



436 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 

Alas the vain attempt ! what influence now 
Can the Muse boast ; or what attention now 
Is paid to fame or virtue ? Where is now 
The British spirit, generous, warm, and brave, 
So frequent wont from tyranny and woe 
To free the suppliant nations ? Where, indeed ! 
If that protection, once to strangers given. 
Be now withheld from sons ? Each nobler thought, 
That warm'd our sires, is lost and buried now 
In luxury and avarice. Baneful vice ! 
How it unmans a nation ! yet I'll try, 
I'll aim to shake this vile degenerate sloth ; 
I'll dare to rouse Britannia's dreaming sons 
To fame, to virtue, and impart around 
A generous feeling of compatriot woes. 

Come then the various powers of forceful speech, 
All that can move, awaken, fire, transport ! 
Come the bold ardour of the Theban bard ! 
The arousing thunder of the patriot Greek ! 
The soft persuasion of the Roman sage ! 
Come all ! and raise me to an equal height, 
A rapture worthy of my glorious cause ! 
Lest my best efforts, failing, should debase 
The sacred theme ; for with no common wing 
The Muse attempts to soar. Yet what need these ? 
My country's fame, my free-born British heart, 
Shall be my best inspirers, raise my flight 
High as the Theban's pinion, and with more 
Than Greek or Roman flame exalt my soul. 
Oh ! could I give the vast ideas birth 



A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 437 

Expressive of the thoughts that flame within, 

No more should lazy Luxury detain 

Our ardent youth ; no more should Britain's sons 

Sit tamely passive by, and careless hear 

The prayers, sighs, groans, (immortal infamy !) 

Of fellow Britons, with oppression sunk, 

In bitterness of soul demanding aid, 

Calling on Britain, their dear native land. 

The land of Liberty ; so greatly fam'd 

For just redress ; the land so often dyed 

With her best blood, for that arousing cause, 

The freedom of her sons ; those sons that now. 

Far from the manly blessings of her sway, 

Drag the vile fetters of a Spanish lord. 

And dare they, dare the vanquish'd sons of Spain 

Enslave a Briton ? Have they then forgot. 

So soon forgot, the great, the immortal day, 

When rescued Sicily with joy beheld 

The swift-wing'd thunder of the British arm 

Disperse their navies ? when their coward bands 

Fled, like the raven from the bird of Jove, 

From swift impending vengeance fled in vain ? 

Are these our lords ? And can Britannia see 

Her foes, oft vanquish'd, thus defy her power. 

Insult her standard, and enslave her sons. 

And not arise to justice 1 Did our sires, 

Unaw'd by chains, by exile, or by death, 

Preserve inviolate her guardian rights, 

To Britons ever sacred ! that their sons [eyes, 

Might give them up to Spaniards ? — Turn your 



438 A BBITISH PHILIPPIC. 

Turn, ye degenerate, who with haughty boast 
Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom, 
That dungeon dark and deep, where never though* 
Of joy or peace can enter ; see the gates 
Harsh-creaking open ; what a hideous void, 
Dark as the yawning grave ! while still as death 
A frightful silence reigns. There on the ground 
Behold your brethren chain'd like beasts of prey : 
There mark your numerous glories, there behold 
The look that speaks unutterable woe ; 
The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye. 
With famine sunk, the deep heart-bursting groan 
Suppress'd in silence ; view the loathsome food, 
Refus'd by dogs, and oh ! the stinging thought ! 
View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs 
The deadly priest triumphant in their woes. 
And thundering worse damnation on their souls : 
While that pale form, in all the pangs of death, 
Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all, 
His native British spirit yet untam'd. 
Raises his head ; and with indignant frowns 
Of great defiance, and superior scorn, 
Looks up and dies. — Oh ! I am all on fire ! 
But let me spare the theme, lest future times 
Should blush to hear that either conquer'd Spain 
Durst ofier Britain such outrageous wrong. 
Or Britain tamely bore it — 
Descend, ye guardian heroes of the land ! 
Scourges of Spain, descend ! Behold your sons ; 
See ! how they run the same heroic race. 



A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 439 

How prompt, how ardent in their country's cause, 
How greatly proud to assert their British blood. 
And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame [ 
Ah I would to heaven ye did not rather see 
How dead to virtue in the public cause, 
How cold, how careless, how to glory deaf. 
They shame your laurels, and belie their birth ! 

Come, ye great spirits, Ca'ndish, Raleigh, Blake ! 
And ye of later name, your country's pride, 
O come ! disperse these lazy fumes of sloth. 
Teach British hearts with British fires to glow ! 
In wakening whispers rouse our ardent youth, 
Blazon the triumphs of your better days, 
Paint all the glorious scenes of rightful war 
In all its splendours ; to their swelling souls 
Say how ye bow'd the insulting Spaniards' pride. 
Say how ye thunder'd o'er their prostrate heads. 
Say how ye broke their lines and fir'd their ports, 
Say how not death, in all its frightful shapes. 
Could damp your souls, or shake the great resolve 
For right and Britain : then display the joys 
The patriot's soul exalting, while he views 
Transported millions hail with loud acclaim 
The guardian of their civil, sacred rights ; 
How greatly welcome to the virtuous man 
Is death for others' good ! the radiant thoughts 
That beam celestial on his passing soul. 
The unfading crowns awaiting him above. 
The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme, 
Who in his actions with complacence views 



440 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 

His own reflected splendour ; then descend, 
Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene ; 
Paint the just honours to his reliques paid, 
Show grateful millions weeping o'er his grave ; 
While his fair fame in each progressive age 
For ever brightens; and' the wise and good 
Of every land in universal choir 
With richest incense of undying praise 
His urn encircle, to the wondering world 
His numerous triumphs blazon ; while with awe, 
With filial reverence, in his steps they tread, 
And, copying every virtue, every fame, 
Transplant his glories into second life. 
And, with unsparing hand, make nations blest 
By his example. Vast, immense rewards ! 
For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind 
Encounters here. Yet, Britons, are ye cold ? 
Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call 
Of your poor injured countrymen ? Ah ! no : 
I see ye are not ; every bosom glows 
With native greatness, and in all its state 
The British spirit rises : glorious change ! 
Fame, virtue, freedom, welcome ! O forgive 
The Muse, that, ardent in her sacred cause, 
Your glory question'd ; she beholds with joy, 
She owns, she triumphs in her wish'd mistake. 
See ! from her sea-beat throne in awful march 
Britannia towers : upon her laurel crest 
The plumes majestic nod ; behold she heaves 
Her guardian shield, and terrible in arms 



HTMN'l:0 SCIENCE. 44X 

For battle shakes her adamantine spear : 
Loud at her ibot the British lion roars, 
Frighting the nations ; haughty Spain full soon 
Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth, 
Your country's daring champions : tell your foes, 
Tell them in thunders o'er their prostrate land. 
You were not born for slaves : let all your deeds 
Show that the sons of those immortal men, 
The stars of shining story, are not slow 
In virtue's path to emulate their sires, 
To assert their country's rights, avenge her sons, 
And hurl the bolts of justice on her foes. 



HYMN TO SCIENCE.23 

" vitae Philosophia dux I virtutis indagatrix, expultrixque yitio- 
rum ! Tu urbes peperisti; tu inventrix Icgum, tu magistra morum 
et disciplinae fuisti: ad te confugimus, a te opem petixuus." — Cic 
Tusc. Q,u(Est. 

Science ! thou fair effusive ray 
From the great source of mental day, 

Free, generous, and refin'd ! 
Descend with all thy treasures fraught, 
Illumine each bewilder'd thought. 

And bless my labouring mind- 
But first with thy resistless light, . 
Disperse those phantoms from my sight. 

Those mimic shades of thee r 
2r 



442 HYMN TO SCIENCE. 

The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant, 
The visionary bigot's rant, 
The monk's philosophy. 

O let thy powerful charms impart 
The patient head, the candid heart, 

Devoted to thy sway ; 
Which no weak passions e'er mislead, 
Which still with dauntless steps proceed 

Where reason points the way. 

Give me to learn each secret cause ; 
Let Number's, Figure's, Motion's laws 

Reveal'd before me stand ; 
These to great Nature's scenes apply. 
And round the globe, and through the sky, 

Disclose her working hand. 

Next, to thy nobler search resign'd. 
The busy, restless Human Mind » 

Through every maze pursue ; 
Detect Perception where it lies, 
Catch the Ideas as they rise, 

And all their changes view. 

Say from what simple springs began 
The vast ambitious thoughts of man, 

Which range beyond control. 
Which seek eternity to trace, 
Dive through the infinity of space, 

And strain to grasp the whole. 



HYMN TO SCIENCE. 443 

Her secret stores let Memory tell, 
Bid Fancy quit her fairy cell, 

In all lier colours drest ; 
While prompt her sallies to control, 
Reason, the judge, recalls the soul 

To Truth's severest test. 

Then launch through Being's wide extent ; 
Let the fair scale, with just ascent 

And cautious steps, be trod ; 
And from the dead, corporeal mass, 
Through each progressive order pass 

To Instinct, Reason, God. 

There, Science ! veil thy daring eye ; 
Nor dive too deep, nor soar too high, 

In that divine abyss ; 
To Faith content thy beams to lend, 
Her hopes to assure, iier steps befriend. 

And light her way to bliss. 

Then downwards take thy flight again, 
Mix with the policies of men. 

And social Nature's ties ; 
The plan, the genius of each state, 
Its interest and its powers relate. 

Its fortunes and its rise. 

Through private life pursue thy course, 
Trace every action to its source, 
And means and motives weigh : 



444 HYMN TO SCIENCE. 

Put tempers, passions, in the scale ; 
Mark what degrees in each prevail, 
And fix tlie doubtful sway. 

That last best effort of thy skill, 
To form the life, and rule the will, 

Propitious power ! impart : 
Teach me to cool my passion's fires, 
Make me the judge of my desires, 

The master of my heart. 

Raise me above the vulgar's breath, 
Pursuit of fortune, fear of death. 

And all in life that's mean : 
Still true to reason be my plan, 
Still let my actions speak the man, 

Through every various scene. 

Hail ! queen of mantiers, light of truth ; 
Hail ! charm of age, and guide of youth ; 

Sweet refuge of distress : 
In business, thou ! exact, polite ; 
Thou giv'st retirement its dehght. 

Prosperity its grace. 

Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause ; 
Foundress of order, cities, laws, 

Of arts iuventress thou ! 
Without thee, what were human kind ? 
How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind ! 

Their joys how mean, how few ! 



LOVE. 

Sun of the soul ! thy beams unveil : 
Let others spread the daring sail 

On Fortune's faithless sea ; 
While, undeluded, happier I 
From the vain tumult timely fly, 

And sit in peace with thee. 



445 



LOVE: AN ELEGY.^^ 

Too much my heart of Beauty's power hath known, 
Too long to Love hath reason left her throne ; 
Too long my genius mourn'd his myrtle chain. 
And three rich years of youth consum'd in vain. 
My wishes, luU'd with soft inglorious dreams, 
Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes ; 
Through each Elysian vale and fairy grove, 
Through all the enchanted paradise of love, 
Misled by sickly Hope's deceitful flame. 
Averse to action, and renouncing fame. 

At last the visionary scenes decay ; 
My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day. 
Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road 
In which my heedless feet securely trod. 
And strip the phantoms of their lying charms 
That lur'd my soul from Wisdom's peaceful arms. 

For silver streams and banks bespread with 
flowers, 
For mossy couches and harmonious bowers, 



446 LOVE. 

Lo ! barren heaths appear, and pathless woods, 
And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathom'd floods : 
For openness of heart, for tender smiles, [wiles ; 
Looks fraught with love, and wrath-disarming 
Lo ! sullen Spite, and perjur'd Lust of Gain, 
And cruel Pride, and crueller Disdain ; 
Lo ! cordial Faith to idiot airs refin'd, 
Now coolly civil, now transporting kind. 
For graceful Ease, lo ! Affectation walks ; 
And dull Half-sense, for Wit and Wisdom talks. 
New to each hour what low delight succeeds. 
What precious furniture of hearts and heads ! 
By nought their prudence, but by getting, known, 
And all their courage in deceiving shown. 

See next what plagues attend the lover's state. 
What frightful forms of Terror, Scorn, and Hate ! 
See burning Fury heaven and earth defy ! 
See dumb Despair in icy fetters lie ! 
See black Suspicion bend his gloomy brow. 
The hideous image of himself to view ! 
And fond Belief, with all a lover's flame. 
Sink in those arms that point his head with shame ! 
There wan Dejection, faltering as he goes, 
In shades and silence vainly seeks repose ; 
Musing through pathless wilds, consumes the day. 
Then lost in darkness weeps the hours away. 
Here the gay crowd of Luxury advance. 
Some touch the lyre, and others urge the dance ; 
On every head the rosy garland glows. 
In every hand the golden goblet flows. 



LOVE. 447 

The Siren views them with exulting eyes, 
And laughs at bashful Virtue as she flies. 
But see behind, where Scorn and Want appear, 
The grave remonstrance and the witty sneer ; 
See fell Remorse in action, prompt to dart 
Her snaky poison through the conscious heart ; 
And Sloth to cancel, with oblivious shame, 
The fair memorial of recording Fame. 

Are these delights that one would wish to gain ? 
Is this the Elysium of a sober brain ? 
To wait for happiness in female smiles, 
Bear all her scorn, be caught with all her wiles, 
With prayers, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave, 
Bless her hard bonds, and boast to be her slave ; 
To feel, for trifles, a distracting train 
Of hopes and terrors equally in vain ; 
This hour to tremble, and the next to glow. 
Can Pride, can Sense, can Reason, stoop so low ? 
When Virtue, at an easier price, displays 
The sacred wreaths of honourable praise ; 
When Wisdom utters her divine decree. 
To laugh at pompous Folly, and be free. 

I bid adieu, then, to these woful scenes ; 
I bid adieu to all the sex of queens ; 
Adieu to every suffering, simple soul. 
That lets a woman's will his ease control. 
There laugh, ye witty ; and rebuke, ye grave ! 
For me, I scorn to boast that I'm a slave. 
I bid the whining brotherhood be gone ; 
Joy to my heart ! my wishes are my own ! 



448 LOTE. 

Farewell the female heaven, the female hell ; 
To the great God of Love a glad farewell. 
Is this the triumph of thy awful name ; 
Are these the splendid hopes that urg'd thy aim, 
When first my bosom own'd thy haughty sway ? 
When thus Minerva heard thee boasting, say, 
*^ Go, martial maid, elsewhere thy arts employ, 
Nor hope to shelter that devoted boy. 
Go teach the solemn sons of Care and Age, 
The pensive statesman, and the midnight sage ; 
The young with me must other lessons prove, 
Youth calls for Pleasure, Pleasure calls for Love. 
Behold, his heart thy grave advice disdains ; 
Behold, I bind him in eternal chains." 
Alas ! great Love, how idle was the boast ! 
Thy chains are broken, and thy lessons lost ; 
Thy wilful rage has tir'd my suffering heart, 
And passion, reason, forc'd thee to depart. 
But wherefore dost thou linger on thy way ? 
Why vainly search for some pretence to stay. 
When crowds of vassals court thy pleasing yoke. 
And countless victims bow them to the stroke ? 
Lo ! round thy shrine a thousand youths advance, 
Warm with the gentle ardours of romance ; 
Each longs to assert thy cause with feats of arms, 
And make the world confess Dulcinea's charms. 
Ten thousand girls with flowery chaplets crown'd. 
To groves and streams thy tender triumph sound : 
Each bids the stream in murmurs speak her flame, 
Each calls the grove to sigh her shepherd's name. 



LOVE. 449 

But, if thy pride such easy honour scorn, 
If nobler trophies must thy toil adorn, 
Behold yon llowery antiquated maid 
Bright in the bloom of threescore years displayed ; 
Her shalt thou bind in thy delightful chains. 
And thrill with gentle pangs her wither'd veins, 
Her frosty cheek with crimson blushes dye. 
With dreams of rapture melt her maudlin eye. 

Turn then thy labours to the servile crowd. 
Entice the wary, and control the proud ; 
Make the sad miser his best gains forego, 
The solemn statesman sigh to be a beau. 
The bold coquette with fondest passion burn. 
The Bacchanalian o'er his bottle mourn ; 
And that chief glory of thy power maintain, 
" To poise ambition in a female brain." 
Be these thy triumphs ; but no more presume 
That my rebellious heart will yield thee room : 
I know thy puny force, thy simple wiles ; 
I break triumphant through thy flimsy toils ; 
I see thy dying lamp's last languid glow. 
Thy arrows blunted and unbrac'd thy bow. 
I feel diviner fires my breast inflame. 
To active science, and ingenuous fame ; 
Resume the paths my earliest choice began, 
And lose, with pride, the lover in the man. 



450 
TO CORDELIA.25 

JULY, 1740. 

Fkom pompous life's dull masquerade, 

From Pride's pursuits, and Passion's war. 
Far, my Cordelia, very far. 

To thee and me may Heaven assign 

The silent pleasures of the shade, 

The joys of peace, unenvied, though divine ! 

Safe in the calm embowering grove. 
As thy own lovely brow serene ; 
Behold the world's fantastic scene ! 
What low pursuits employ the great. 
What tinsel things their wishes move, 
The forms of Fashion, and the toys of State. 

In vain are all Contentment's charms, 
Her placid mien, her cheerful eye ; 
For look, Cordelia, how they fly ! 

Allur'd by Power, Applause, or Gain, 

They fly her kind protecting arms ; 

Ah, blind to pleasure, and in love with pain I 

Turn and indulge a fairer view, 

Smile on the joys which here conspire ; 
O joys harmonious as my lyre ! 



SONG. 451 

O prospect of enchanting things, 

As ever slumbering poet knew, 

When Love and Fancy wrapt him in their wings I 

Here, no rude storm of Passion blows, 

But Sports, and Smiles, and Virtues play, 
Cheer'd by Affection's purest ray ; 

The air still breathes Contentment's balm, 

And the clear stream of Pleasure flows 

For ever active, yet for ever calm. 



SONG.26 

The shape alone let others prize, 

The features of the fair : 
I look for spirit in her eyes. 

And meaning in her air. 

A damask cheek, an ivory arm. 
Shall ne'er my wishes win : 

Give me an animated form. 
That speaks a mind within. 

A face where awful honour shines, 
"Where sense and sweetness move, 

And angel innocence refines 
The tenderness of love. 



452 SONG. 

These are the soul of beauty's frame ; 

Without whose vital aid, 
Unfinish'd all her features seem, 

And all her roses dead. 

But ah ! where both their charms unite, 

How perfect is the view, 
With every image of delight, 

With graces ever new : 

Of power to charm the greatest woe, 

The wildest rage control. 
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow. 

And rapture through the soul. 

Their power but faintly to express 
All language must despair ; 

But go, behold Arpasia's face, 
And read it perfect there. 



ADDITIONAL NOTES TO THE MISCELLA- 
NEOUS POEMS. 



1. (p. 275.) Originally entitled, " Allusioh to Horace," and 
first published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 1745. 

2. (p. 277.) First printed for private distribution, afterwards 
altered and published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 1745. 

3. (p. 283.) Originally entitled, "To a Gentleman whose 
Mistress had married an Old Man," and first published in 
Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 1745. 

4. (p. 287.) First published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 
1745. 

6. (p. 289.) First published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 
1745. 

6. (p. 297.) Composed in 1744, and- first published in Odes 
on Several Subjects, 4to, 1745. 

7. (p. 300.) Published in 4to, 1744, as " An Epistle to Curio," 
but afterwards altered into this Ode. 

8. (p. 307.) First published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 
1745, and originally entitled, " On the Absence of the Poetic 
Inclination." 

9. (p. 308.) First published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 
1745, and originally entitled, " To a Friend, on the Hazard of 
Falling in Love." 

10. (p. 314.) First published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 
1745. 

11. (p. 327.) First published in 4to, 1748. 



454 * NOTES. 

12. (p. 341.) First published in Odes on Several Subjects, 4to, 
1745. [It was afterwards much altered, and is here given as 
printed by Mr. Dyson. The copy in Pearch's Collection of 
Poems is not, as the last English editor thinks, different from 
Dyson's.] 

13. (p. 355.) First published in Dodsley's Collection of 
Poems, Vol. VI., ed. 1758. 

14. (p. 359.) First published in Dodsley's Collection of 
Poems, Vol. VI., ed. 1758. 

15. (p. 361.) First published in May, 1766, in folio. 

16. (p. 364.) First published in 4to, 1758. 

17. (p. 382.) First published in Dodsley's Collection of 
Poems, Vol. VI., ed. 1758. 

18. (p. 401.) I. - VI. were first published in Dodsley's Col- 
lection of Poems, Vol. VI., ed. 1768. 

19. (p. 421.) First published in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
for April, 1737. 

20. (p. 425.) First pubhshed in the Gentleman's Magazine 
for May, 1737. 

21. (p. 429.) First published in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
for July, 1737. 

22. (p. 435.) First published in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
for August, 1738. 

23. (p. 441.) First published in the Gentleman's Magazine, 
for October, 1739. 

24. (p. 445.) Printed about 1740 for private distribution, 
and first published in The New Foundling Hospital for Wit, 
Vol. VI. p. 23, ed. 1773. 

25. (p. 450.) Found in an edition of Akenside's Works, pub- 
lished at New Brunswick (N. J.), in 2 vols., 1808 [edited by 
Mrs. Barbauld]. 

26. (p. 451.) Attributed to Akenside by Ritson, English 
Songs, I. 207. 

THE END. 



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